


Gilmore Girls Virtual Season 8

by Virtual_Gilmore_Girls



Series: Gilmore Girls Virtual Seasons [1]
Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Birthday, Children, Engagement, F/M, Gen, Original Character(s), Post-Series, Pregnancy, Relationship(s), Season 8, Travel, Virtual Season/Series, new career, virtual season
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-20 10:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3647373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtual_Gilmore_Girls/pseuds/Virtual_Gilmore_Girls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Gilmore Girls Virtual Seasons: It's not over 'til we say it is!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Episode 8.01 "Into the Great Wide Open"

**Author's Note:**

> **Season 8 Leadership Team**
> 
> **Producer:** Jenepel  
>  **Webmaster and Graphic Designer:** AdinaRJ  
>  **Head Writer:** Sosmitten  
>  **Lead Writers:** Avery, Lula Bo, and wounded  
> Additional Graphics: olivia_jan74
> 
>  **Writers:**  
>  KineFille, Mrs. Dionysius O'Gall, NicoleMack, OnceUponAWhim, Rae, Robbinpoppins, Jewels12, AdinaRJ, Genkichiba, Filo, Rae, and DippersBaby
> 
>  **Story Development Team:**  
>  AdinaRJ, Avery, Barilace, Blackbird01, Bookwormrach, Buckice, DippersBaby, Filo, Genkichiba, Gjoni, Godsgal07, I_need_bandaids, Jenepel, Kona40, Jewels12, LarLar1286, Lula Bo, Lulu1960, Mrs. Dionysius O'Gall, Nicole Mack, Once Upon a Whim, Outforawalk, Pink Hammer, Stina_bo_bina, Smileyggfan, Supiegirl, Rae, Robinpoppins, Vegi B, Widgetgirl, Wrldpossibility, and wounded
> 
>    
>   
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Episode 8:01 written by Sosmitten**
> 
> Rory's on her way out into the world and Lorelai's adjusting herself to life in a world without her daughter by her side. While Lorelai spends some quality time with Luke, Rory spends her first day on the job at a Quality Inn, and doesn't get quite what she expected. For both the girls, it's a venture into the great wide open.
> 
> The Gilmore Girls Virtual Seasons: It's not over 'til we say it is!
> 
> Episode originally published September 25th, 2007.

Author's Note: I apologize in advance for the length of this author's note, but there are some important things to say about this project. This episode may have my name listed as the author, but many, many people have contributed to its contents. Before we even began plotting out the individual episodes, members of the [Creative Team](../creative1.php) spent weeks brainstorming season-long story ideas, Once we'd come up with a plan for the season, we attacked the individual episodes in the same way, so that by the time I set out to 'write' the first episode I had all sorts of brilliant ideas to start me out. It's been, and will continue to be, a wonderful (and challenging) collaborative process and it took everyone on the Creative Team to get us here. 

I can't say enough about the awesomeness that is my beta/lead writer team: **Lula Bo** and **Avery**. They held my hand while we tried to pin down our collective 'voice,' and encouraged me when I didn't feel remotely clever. Thanks also to **Jenepel** for reading through and catching so many things I'd missed. Lastly, thanks to Tom Petty, for the title inspired by his song of the same name.

 

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

Rory slid her carry-on under the seat in front of her and settled into her spot next to the window. She gazed outside for a moment but her placement over the wing afforded almost no view of the action on the tarmac. She turned to the book in her lap, thumbed the pages and tried to remember why she'd chosen this meaty biography, rather than a light work of fiction to bring with her on the flight.  
   
Pulling her phone out of her purse, she began to dial automatically, but then closed it and dropped it into her lap.  
   
She watched the sliver of baggage handler activity she could see and took another look through her book, but finally gave in, flipping open her phone and dialing before she could reconsider.  
   
The phone rang three times before being answered and in the intervening moments Rory had time to wonder what had made her mother tuck her phone so far out of her immediate reach. When Lorelai did pick up there was a note of concern in her "Hey kid."  
   
"It's Billie Newman," Rory offered brightly.  
   
"Huh?" Lorelai asked, clearly confused.  
   
"The reporter on _Lou Grant_ you were trying to remember. You know," Rory teased, "the whole quippy reference thing is much more effective if you actually remember the reference."  
   
"Sorry to disappoint," Lorelai retorted.  
   
Rory sighed dramatically. "And all this time I've been looking up to you as a paragon of pop-cultural knowledge."  
   
"Oh, didn't I tell you I've been faking it all these years?" Rory chuckled, relieved by the familiar back and forth. After a moment, though, Lorelai asked, "So, did your flight get delayed?"  
   
"No. Why?"  
   
"I thought you'd be on the plane by now."  
   
"I am. We just boarded."  
   
"Umm... cell phone?" Lorelai pointed out. "I know I violate the 'no cellphones in the diner rule' regularly just to see that vein in Luke's forehead stick out, but you're on an airplane."  
   
"It's okay," Rory reassured her, "they haven't made the 'turn off all electronic devices' announcement yet. We're good for a few more minutes."  
   
"If you say so, but if you get kicked off the plane, don't say I didn't warn—"  
   
"Hey, Mom?" Rory cut in, suddenly conscious of the background noise on her mom's end of the line. "Is that music? Are you in the car?"  
   
"Yeah," Lorelai answered, as though she didn't understand the question.  
   
"You're in the car?" Rory confirmed, disbelieving. "As in driving home?"  
   
"In the general vicinity of Stars Hollow, yes, that's the plan. I thought through the whole loitering thing, but I didn't want to attract too much attention from the K-9 units or Paul Anka would get jealous."  
   
"Well, if any dog would notice it would be Paul Anka," Rory agreed. After a short pause, she continued, trying to keep her voice light. "But I'm just not sure what would have happened if I'd suddenly realized that this whole reporter thing was a mistake and what I really wanted to be was a meteorologist."  
   
"A meteorologist?" Lorelai sputtered. Through her giggles, she asked, "Like Kimmy Live at Five?"  
   
Rory scoffed. "Not a television weather girl. A real meteorologist, like the ones who figure out what the weather will be so they can tell the weather guys what to say."  
   
"Oh, so like one of those people sitting at a computer in the background of the weather channel briefing room?" Lorelai teased. "Cause that just screams 'Rory' to me."  
   
"Well, we'll never know, will we?" Rory asked, tugging at an imaginary thread on the belt of her shirt. "What if that had been what I'm really supposed to do and I realized it at the last minute, but you'd already left? There goes the chance for a career in meteorology." She was joking, she told herself, playing the kind of game she and her mother had amused themselves with countless times before.  
   
Lorelai joined in dutifully. "I'm having a little trouble seeing the appeal of meteorology, actually. That's seriously the example that came to mind? With the whole all-you-can-eat buffet of choices: FBI agent, neurosurgeon—"  
   
"Oh, so now you're mocking my hypothetical career crisis?" She hated the way that she could hear her voice waver.  
   
"Rory, hon," Lorelai said gently. "You're going to be fine. This is what you've always wanted to do and you're ready to go out and do it."  
   
"Yeah?" Rory asked.  
   
"Of course," Lorelai said, full of confidence. "You're going to blow them away."

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

"I'm telling you," Kirk insisted in a hushed whisper to the collection of townspeople gathered in the diner for their morning coffee, "they're back together. He opened up early for Lorelai and Rory this morning."  
   
Miss Patty looked at him kindly. "Aww, Kirk honey, I think Luke and Lorelai belong together as much as the next person, but you need more conclusive proof than an early breakfast. After all that's happened..." She shook her head sadly.  
   
"And after that song," Babette squawked, "if he didn't chase her down and smack one on her, I'm not sure what it will take."  
   
As Kirk continued to make his case, Lorelai parked her Jeep across the street from the diner and exited slowly, passing a somber gaze across the square, as though cataloguing the memories. Kirk was the first to see her and he directed the other's attention out the window. "Well, well, well," he intoned knowingly. "Back again, I see. Yes, there's definitely something going on here." From the skeptical expressions on the faces of the townspeople, they clearly remained unconvinced, but continued gazing out the window with interest nonetheless. 

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

  Lorelai glanced up briefly at the diner but hung back, reluctant to bounce in as she'd always been able to. Inside, she could see all the familiar heads bowed in conversation as Luke walked among them refilling coffee. She couldn't will her feet to carry her inside, only to be subjected to excited questions and sympathetic looks, so she stood, almost frozen, on the sidewalk. She saw Luke stop when he noticed her through the window, then watched him place the coffee pot absently on the counter and stare a moment out the window before walking out the door and across the street toward her.  
   
She looked up as he approached, throwing him a sad smile. He seemed to know without asking what Rory's absence was doing to her. Taking a few more steps, he enveloped her in his arms automatically and she melted into the embrace, resting her head on his shoulder.  
   
For long moments, he simply held her, running his hand comfortingly up and down her spine. Eventually she pulled back and he let his hands fall to his side as he ducked his head to meet her eyes. "You okay?" he asked.  
   
"Yeah." She nodded slowly. "I am. She's going off to do exactly what she's always wanted to do. So it's good. It is. It's just..." She shrugged. "Different now. Like _Little House on the Prairie_ without Laura Ingalls."  
   
He just nodded in response, then gestured behind him. "Do you want coffee, or something? I can get..." His voice trailed off as she shook her head.  
   
"No, I'm not— Hey do you..." The words came out in a rush. She took a deep breath and waved her hands, starting her thought over. "I'm wondering, and I totally understand if you can't or don't want to, since you basically spent the weekend throwing Rory the graduation party to end all graduation parties and you must be exhaust-"  
   
"Lorelai," Luke cut in gently, "tell me what I can do."  
   
"I was just wondering if Caesar and Zach could cover the diner today," she said tentatively.  
   
"I'm sure they could. Caesar's here already and Zach's been bugging me to get some extra hours before he goes on tour, so he's coming in today too. What's up?"  
   
"Do you think maybe we could, I don't know, get out of Stars Hollow for the day? I don't really know where—I don't have my _Lonely Planet_ book for Connecticut handy, but I just think I want another day before I need to be here, you know?" She looked up at Luke, her lips quirked to the side in an uncertain plea.  
   
He nodded. "I get it." Smiling as if an idea had just come to him, he added confidently, "I know what we can do."  
   
"Yeah?" she asked, her eyes lighting up at his tone.  
   
"Yeah. Zach should be here soon and I just have to get some stuff together, so we could go in a few minutes. How's that?"  
   
"Well, aren't you Julie McCoy all of a sudden?" she teased. "Where are you taking me?"  
   
He flashed her a devious smile. "You'll see when we get there."  
   
Narrowing her eyes, she said, "Fine. You go gather your 'stuff'." She gestured with air quotes. "I should check in with Sookie. They don't really need me the inn, since I was going to be off rollercoastering with Rory, but I told her I'd stop by." She sobered for a moment at the mention of the cancelled trip, and Luke gave her a sympathetic smile.  
   
"Well, I'll be back in a few minutes," he said, pointing behind him. Glancing up as he turned to go, he stopped suddenly and sighed. "Getting out of town is sounding better and better," he said, pointing at the diner window, where the faces of the entire clientele were pressed against the glass. One by one, they peeled themselves away and went back to pretending nonchalance until Kirk was the sole glass-squashed face among them.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

Rory watched out the window with nervous anticipation as her cab pulled up in front of the hotel. She paid the fare, then stood, surrounded by her luggage, and stared at the entrance.  
   
The Quality Inn had skirted the whole hotel or motel question with the 'Inn and Suites' moniker, but it didn't look like any inn Rory had ever seen. It was a singularly unimpressive building, squat and sprawling, and like other structures she'd seen during her cab ride built in the horizontal rather than the vertical. For some reason she hadn't expected buildings in the Midwest to be as flat as the landscape.  
   
The hotel grew no more intimidating in her few moments of standing there, so with a quick nod to herself, she picked up her bags and headed inside to the registration desk.  
   
The clerk, a petite woman with a short cap of dark brown hair, gave her a welcoming smile as she approached the desk. "May I help you? Are you checking in?"  
   
Rory returned the smile. "There should be a reservation, I think. Rory Gilmore? I'm here for Senator Obama's campaign." She paused and then added, by way of explanation, "It's my first day."  
   
"Oh, are you with the campaign staff?"  
   
"No, I'm with the press," Rory said, straightening, "Writing for _The Critical Observer_." The clerk smiled but gave no sign of recognition. "It's an online magazine," Rory clarified.  
   
"Oh, okay. Well, the campaign is moving on this afternoon, but I can hold onto your luggage for the day."  
   
Rory's brow furrowed in confusion. "This afternoon?"  
   
"Yes, to the Twin Cities, I believe. If I heard the staff correctly."  
   
"But I thought..." she started, but then paused and waved off the question. "Okay, I'll leave my bags then."  
   
"Until you head out, there's a hospitality suite for the press set up in Meeting Room D, where you can get more information about your briefing," the clerk added helpfully.  
   
Rory's questions faded at the word 'briefing' and she suddenly couldn't wait to be rid of her luggage and off in search of a story. "Hey," she asked, "there isn't, by any chance, some coffee in that hospitality room, is there?"  
   
"Oh, most definitely." The clerk filled out the luggage claim tags and Rory held out her hand for them, eager to move on. As the clerk passed them over, she gave Rory an encouraging smile. "Good luck."  
   
Pausing, Rory let out a grateful sigh. "Thank you."  
   
Relieved of her everything but her computer bag, Rory headed confidently in the direction the clerk had pointed, glancing quickly at the names on the doors she passed. Predictably, Meeting Room D was the fourth one in the corridor. She entered the room to find a few tables on the opposite wall, bearing up what looked to be large containers of coffee and the remnants of two trays of bagels. A whiteboard above the tables announced a press briefing at noon in the Dubuque Room. Chairs were sprinkled liberally around the room, one of them occupied by a professionally dressed and coiffed Indian woman in her early thirties who was bent over a laptop. Two other slightly younger women were standing and chatting nearby with an African-American man in a smart suit.  
   
The group stopped talking as Rory headed toward the coffee. "Hi," she said tentatively.  
   
The petite blond one spoke first. "Hi." She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Are you... uh... new? I haven't seen you around before."  
   
Rory nodded. "Yeah, my first day, actually."  
   
"Ah." The woman nodded her understanding.  
   
There was an awkward pause, during which Rory started to hold out her hand, but stopped, instead saying simply. "I'm Rory Gilmore."  
   
"And which publication do you work for?" asked the other woman, who was taller than the first with dark curls falling down her back.  
   
" _The Critical Observer_ ," Rory answered, this time expecting their blank looks and adding, "it's an online magazine."  
   
There was another pause before the man jumped in and offered, "I'm James, _Miami Herald_." It took Rory a moment to realize that he'd given not his last name, but his paper. By then he'd pointed at the blond woman. "She's Meredith, _Kansas City Star_." He then pointed at the dark-haired woman. "This is Rachael, _Philadelphia Inquirer_. And the woman over there who always has her nose in her computer is Darshana, _Sun-Times_."  
   
He said the last with a teasing note in his voice and the woman looked at him with a good-natured glare before giving Rory a perfunctory smile. "Hi, it's nice to meet you."  
   
"Nice to meet you too," Rory said, gesturing toward all of them. At a loss for what to say, she asked eagerly, "So, the briefing is in half and hour, right? Is that where we get the schedule for the day?"  
   
"That's the idea," Meredith answered, her tone uninterested.  
   
"Well, I'm just going to get a cup of coffee, but I guess I'll see you there." They all nodded politely, then James, Meredith and Rachael went back to talking and Darshana continued tapping away on her laptop as Rory made her way toward the coffee.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

"Lane!" Zach called from the living room of their apartment. "I'm gonna leave Kwan in the bassinet, okay? I told Luke I'd be at the diner by ten, so I gotta get going."  
   
"I'm almost done here. Just give me a sec," Lane called back impatiently as she walked into the room, fastening the last of the snaps on Steve's outfit while he let out fretful cries. She caught Zach with his foot in mid-tap and a hurried look on his face. "You've been working a lot lately," she observed. "Do you really have to spend all the time before you leave at the diner? It kind of feels like you're gone already."  
   
Zach stood still, staring at her dumbly, clearly taken aback at her frustration. "I just want to be able to stock up on diapers and wipes and all the non-perishable groceries before I leave," he said defensively. "And I want to leave you some extra money in the checking account so you can order take-out sometimes instead of always having to cook."  
   
Chastened, Lane's expression softened. "That's... that's really thoughtful."  
   
"I just want to make it easier for you," he added, gesturing feebly towards her while still holding Kwan against his chest. "You're, like, making this huge sacrifice to stay home with the boys so I can tour with the band."  
   
"Well," Lane shrugged helplessly, "it's not like there are a ton of choices."  
   
Zach crossed the room, cradling Kwan in his arms as he leaned in to kiss Lane. "It's not always going to be like this. I promise."  
   
"I know." She sighed. "Go make some money."  
   
He nodded, looking down at Steve, who continued to fret, and patted him on the head before depositing Kwan in the bassinet.  
   
No sooner had the door closed behind Zach did Kwan, missing the warmth of his father's arms, erupt into tears.  
   
Lane let out a long groan and scooped up Kwan with her free arm. Walking around the room holding both boys against her chest she whispered over and over, "It won't always be like this. Sometimes... Brian and Gil will visit."

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

"Bridgeport?" Lorelai asked incredulously as they entered the city limits. "Out of all the possible destinations in Connecticut, we're going to Bridgeport?" Luke ignored her yet again and she frowned playfully, then sank back into her seat, letting out a long sigh. "The last time I was here was to pick up Rory from jail."  
   
"We're not going to the jail," Luke said darkly.  
   
"But you still won't tell me where," Lorelai pouted.  
   
He just smirked. "You'll see when we get there."  
   
It wasn't until they'd wound their way through much of the city that Lorelai caught a glimpse of the ocean, causing the synapses in her brain to fire, and suddenly it all came together. "Oh, Bridge _port_. We're going to your boat."  
   
Smiling softly, he gave a small nod.  
   
Touched, she asked again quietly, "We're going to your boat?"  
   
"Just thought you might want to see it," he said casually.  
   
Only a few minutes later, they arrived at the marina, parked and headed down the pier, Luke carrying a small cooler. Lorelai followed at his side, asking continually, "This one? Is it this one?"  
   
Luke shook his head good-naturedly then finally nudged her and pointed ahead of them at a sleek motorboat about twenty feet in length.  
   
Lorelai bounded down the dock, taking in the roomy deck area and peering through the windows into the small but cozy-looking cabin. "Luke, it's beautiful." She scanned the outside of the boat, walking around to look at the back. "But." She looked up at him expectantly. "It doesn't have a name. What are you going to name it?"  
   
"I have no idea."  
   
"Well," Lorelai said excitedly. "Just wait until I get brainstorming. There's a whole world of possibilities."  
   
"That's a truly frightening thought."  
   
She narrowed her eyes. "Hey! I've very successfully named most of my belongings. And," she waved her finger toward his chest, "some of yours."  
   
"That's exactly what I'm worried about." He gestured into the boat. "You ready to get on?"  
   
"Definitely. Let's see what this baby can do!"  
   
Luke stepped nimbly onto the deck, set down the cooler, and then reached out an arm to Lorelai. She moved gingerly but wasn't prepared for the way the boat tipped when her weight shifted. Losing her balance, she fell into Luke's chest and was saved from toppling over onto the deck only by his firm grip on her arm. She stood for a moment with her hand resting on his chest, the half-embrace feeling natural and awkward at the same time. She dropped her eyes from his intense gaze, saying brightly as she stepped away, "So, show me around. I want the grand tour of your yacht."

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

Rory sat alone in the briefing room, three rows back from the podium. Taking out her notepad and three writing implements had occupied only thirty seconds of the twenty-five minutes left until the briefing. She'd pulled out her laptop long enough to determine that whatever wireless service the hotel might have didn't extend to this room. She spent a few minutes tapping her fingers against the plastic case, considering whether or not it would be appropriate to take notes on her computer during the briefing, but then snapped it shut and slid it back into her bag.  
   
Having exhausted everything else, she sat back in her chair and took a few sips of coffee, remembering too late that this was coffee so terrible it was better downed in large gulps, helped along by more generous measures of sugar and cream than she had allowed herself. Disgusted, she placed it back on the floor, once again reduced to glancing around the empty room.  
   
This time when she pulled out her phone there was less hesitation about pressing the single button to dial her mother.  
   
"Guess where I am?" she said cheerfully, as soon as Lorelai answered.  
   
"Rory?" Her mother sounded far away, white noise partially obscuring her response.  
   
"I'm in the press briefing room," she blurted, enjoying the sound of it.  
   
"And you're talking to me?" Lorelai asked, sounding skeptical.  
   
"Well, it hasn't started yet."  
   
"Oh, I see." Rory could hear the teasing tone in her mother's voice, even through the static. "So you're sitting in there by yourself because you're ridiculously early and you don't want to look like a dork, so you called me. I get it. So apparently you got there okay. Is everything going well?"  
   
"It's really good. I found the hotel, didn't actually check in because we're moving on tonight, but there's space here just for the press. I met a few people."  
   
"That's great hon," Lorelai said with genuine enthusiasm. "I'm so excited for you." The last of her words were almost swallowed by the crackling from the phone.  
   
"Where are you?" Rory finally asked. "This connection sucks."  
   
There was a pause before Lorelai answered sheepishly, "I'm on Luke's boat."  
   
"You're on a boat?" Rory asked incredulously. "Where?"  
   
"In the ocean. Well, technically, I guess it's the Long Island Sound."  
   
"You're on a boat," Rory repeated, having a hard time with the mental image, and at the same time taken aback by the fact that her mom was out boating just a few hours after her only child had left Stars Hollow for her first real job.  
   
"Yep."  
   
"With Luke," she added knowingly.  
   
"Yeah, well, I just wanted to get out—" Lorelai's remaining words drowned in an impressively loud bit of static. "We should talk later," her mom said, the words enunciated loudly and clearly in an effort to do battle with the interference.  
   
"Yeah, later," Rory said soberly. "Besides, this thing is going to start soon," she added as someone entered the room, headed toward a table in the front of the room and began shuffling through some papers.  
   
"Okay, I'll talk to you later. Bye, kid."  
   
"Bye, Mom."  
   
Rory closed her phone, holding it in her lap. She'd known that her mom and Luke had begun something again but she'd been under the impression that they were starting slowly, and this seemed like the opposite of slow.  
   
In an attempt to clear her head, Rory watched a few people trickle in and take their seats. After a few minutes, Meredith sat down across the aisle. Rory gave a small wave and the other woman nodded her recognition.  
   
Several more minutes passed before the room filled and the spokesperson walked forward, tapping the sheaf of papers he was holding on the podium.  
   
"Okay, well here's the update for today. Senator Obama has been meeting this morning with some donors, most notably Andrew Mills from Wilshire Foo ds and Fred Parker from Conrad Steel." As everyone around her started scribbling and tapping on their laptops, Rory realized with a start that she'd missed one of the names. She considered for a moment asking him to repeat it, but he'd already moved onto the next announcement. "After lunch, I know that a couple of you have arranged interviews— _Newsweek_ and the _Chicago Sun-Times_ , I believe." He looked into the audience, meeting the eyes of a couple of people, who nodded. One of them was the laptop woman Rory had just met in the hospitality room.  
   
"Other than that," the man continued, "we'll be heading out this afternoon for the Twin Cities. The senator has a lunch tomorrow with the Minneapolis Central Labor Union Council and then will be speaking to a gathering outside the Mall of America as well as at a rally the following day at the Xcel Energy Center in Saint Paul. Any questions?"  
   
Rory was so surprised that she didn't hear the question that followed or the response. "So we're not going to see him at all today?" she muttered quietly.  
   
Someone behind her chuckled. "Not unless you've got several thousand dollars to donate to the campaign."  
   
Rory turned to the speaker, seeing another of the reporters she'd met. Rachael, she remembered, from the _Philadelphia Inquirer_. "But wasn't there supposed to be a town hall meeting today? That's what my editor told me on Friday when I got the job."  
   
"Must've been working off of an old schedule. Things got changed around last week. That happens all the time. You always have to check the current schedule." She was not unfriendly, but her patronizing tone gave Rory's confidence a quick, sound kick.  
   
"Oh... well... thanks," she said, then turned back toward the spokesperson, who was deftly responding to one question after another.  
   
"In a previous schedule Senator Obama was planning to meet with Mike Harley from the Minnesota Environmental Initiative. Is that meeting going to happen on this visit?"  
   
"Is Senator Obama going to address concerns raised about the Health Care Reform Plan he announced on May 29th?"  
   
"Is it true that the Teamsters Local 120 has endorsed Senator Obama?"  
   
The flurry of questions only served to make Rory feel vastly uninformed. She wrote furiously as many of the questions and answers as she could, but her notes had numerous gaps she could only hope to try to fill in later. Almost before she realized what was happening, the spokesperson was tapping his stack of papers with finality and people began filing out of the room looking so calm and relaxed Rory could hardly believe they'd sat through the same brisk question and answer session.  
   
The things she didn't know felt endless and overwhelming; she wanted only to find a corner to curl up with her notes, her computer and a cup of coffee somewhat less vile than the one she was holding.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

Frazzled and exhausted, Lane managed to find soothing words as she slipped a diaper under a screaming Kwan and began to fasten it. "I know you hate the nakedness, but it's okay. We're almost done, I swear." Finishing up, she snapped his onesie and pulled him into her arms, bouncing gently in an effort to calm him.  
   
Just as Kwan's cries began to quiet, Steve's fussing kicked up a notch and Lane let out a groan of frustration. "Steve," she pleaded, "any amount of money if you don't get your brother going again. If money doesn't do it for you, I'll give you one free tattoo or mohawk, or whatever the "it" form of rebellion is when you're a surly teenager. Just please help me out here."  
   
Apparently though, Steve was not to be swayed as his cries escalated along with his brother's. Sighing in defeat, Lane leaned over to scoop Steve out from under the dangling toy apparatus that was spread across the floor. "What am I going to do with you two? You're going to drive me to madness, or to country, and you know what your dad will say about that." Steeling herself against tears, she set her shoulders in determination. "Fine. We're going out for a walk, and if that whole fresh air and nature thing doesn't work its magic, I swear I'll be tempted to go the tranquilizer route, and that's so not a road we want to be headed down right now."

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

Having successfully found coffee that was not only passable, but actually quite good, and a comfortable chair within reach of an electrical outlet, Rory sat with her laptop on her knees and various notes spread on either side of her. At the moment she was going back and forth between the three Firefox windows she had open, each with multiple tabs: one dedicated to Obama himself, one to some of the Twin Cities Organizations that had been mentioned and the last filled with various blogs along the line of the one she was current perusing, "My Life as a Campaign Reporter." The sheer embarrassment of knowing so little about what her job entailed made her keep looking around to make sure no one could tell what she was reading.  
   
Somehow, she still managed to be caught off-guard. "So, where did you find that?"  
   
"Huh?" Rory asked, looking up distractedly from her laptop. Her eyes came to rest on a tall, lean, dark-haired guy in front of her and as she shifted slightly the papers she'd had propped up on her purse next to her slid to the floor. "What?"  
   
He let out a little chuckle, but then leaned down to scoop up the papers. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt you. It's just, how did you get your hands on Caribou Coffee? The only place remotely accessible from our charming accommodation is that anti-Perkins across the street, and you certainly didn't get that there."  
   
"There's some sort of business training over there," she stammered awkwardly, pointing toward another set of meeting rooms off the far side of the hotel lobby. "They apparently sprang for the good stuff."  
   
His eyes widened in amusement. "And you just joined in with their training?"  
   
She hesitated. "Well, they were at lunch," she confessed.  
   
This time he looked at her with awe. "Not bad! So you have some sort of sixth sense that directs you to coffee?"  
   
She lifted one shoulder in an offhand shrug. "I do have a nose for it, I guess."  
   
"Good," he said, nodding. "Good to know."  
   
He looked at her long enough that she wondered if he was waiting for her to officially introduce herself. "So..." she started tentatively.  
   
"Is it your first day?" he asked, before she got a chance to finish.  
   
She gave a small nod as she reached to get her papers from him. "Well, yeah, how did you—" Barely missing knocking her computer off her lap, she put out her hands to prevent any more of her belongings from falling down around her, and then said with a wry grin, "How did you know?"  
   
"Just a hunch," he replied, his smile amused but kind. "I guess I recognize it. I was there a few months ago. I'm Patrick, by the way, Patrick Donnelly."  
   
He reached out his hand again, this time for a handshake and Rory shook it. "Rory. Rory Gilmore."  
   
"Well, I guess I'll see you around, Rory Gilmore, especially if you've got that good a nose for coffee."  
   
"Yeah, I'll see you around." She answered his little wave as he sauntered off, gazing just a moment longer than was probably appropriate before shaking her head with a touch of irritation and burying herself in her papers again.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

"It's just sandwiches." Luke gave her a self-conscious smile as he began pulling stuff out of the cooler. "Sorry I didn't have anything more interesting to bring."  
   
"Luke, are you kidding? If you hadn't brought me out here and packed a lunch, I'd be at home finishing off the leftovers from Al's foray into Bulgarian cuisine while watching Paul Anka eat tennis balls and trying not to think about Rory not being home. This is... " She paused, looked up and smiled gratefully. "Thank you for bringing me." He looked down, flushing slightly, and Lorelai went on, attempting to keep the mood light. "You know, I could get used to this whole boat thing."  
   
Luke answered with a wry grin. "You still haven't used the bathroom."  
   
"You have a point." She grimaced. "And damn you for reminding me! I was _trying_ not to think about that."  
   
He chuckled and Lorelai responded by tossing a potato chip at him. Just as she was about to launch another he gave her a contrite look and she leaned back in her seat and popped the chip in her mouth.  
   
"So, hey. Whatever happened with your boat trip with April? You mentioned it wasn't happening and I've been so wrapped up in my stuff I didn't even ask. I'm sorry." She looked at him with a remorseful frown.  
   
"It's fine. You had a lot of stuff going on." He shrugged. "But April actually got into this science camp this summer. It's run by the University of Chicago. It's really selective and it will be a great opportunity, so she really couldn't pass it up. They're going to spend time at the Field Museum and the Museum of Science and Industry and have classes taught by Nobel Prize winning scientists and stuff. But it's for six weeks, so we can't do the boat trip. I mean, at least not the one I planned, because she'll only be here for a couple of weeks after the camp's over." He shrugged again. "Maybe I can still take her out for a few days or something, but we'll have to do the big trip another time."  
   
"Oh, Luke, I'm so sorry. I know you were looking forward to it."  
   
"Yeah, well, she was really excited about the camp. And, well," he gestures vaguely toward her, "it won't be so bad to hang around Stars Hollow this summer."  
   
This time it was Lorelai's turn to blush, but she recovered, saying lightly, "Really? You looking forward to the summer festival series Taylor's got planned?"  
   
He grinned. "Yeah, that's really going to make my summer." They shared an amused smile. After a few moments he added, "I am thinking of going to visit April in Chicago for their parents' weekend."  
   
"That sounds nice."  
   
"I wasn't sure because I don't want to be the one dorky parent who shows up for parents' weekend, but April sounded like she wanted me to come, so... "  
   
"Of course she'll want to see you!" Lorelai reassured him. "Plus, there's all sorts of cool stuff you guys can do together while you're there."  
   
"Yeah?" He cocked his head to the side and looked at her. "Like what? Have you been to Chicago before?"  
   
"No, I've never been, but Rory and I planned a trip there once."  
   
"You did?" He asked, his brow furrowing. "Why?"  
   
"We planned lots of trip we never took. It was one of our things. When Rory was little, we'd go to the travel book section of the library and just pick a spot. And then we'd spend the next week or two planning the perfect trip. Of course, we couldn't actually afford to go on any trips..." she smiled wistfully, remembering, "but we had fun planning them. Sometimes it was even more fun knowing we could be really extravagant, since we'd never be able to go anyway."  
   
She glanced up to find him shaking his head in amazement, and she looked away shyly. "So do you remember anything?" he asked. "Something April might like?"  
   
"Well, you'll have to get pizza while you're there."  
   
He gave her a look of disbelief. "Pizza?"  
   
"No, seriously. Chicago-style pizza. It's a thing. The original Pizzeria Uno is in Chicago."  
   
"Pizzeria Uno? Why would I go to Chicago to go to Pizzeria Uno when there's one at the mall?"  
   
"Well, that's just an example. There's another place that's supposed to be the best—Gino's or something. I'm not sure of the name right now, but we could look it up. And she'd probably love Navy Pier. It's sort of an outdoor marketplace crossed with a carnival. And if you're feeling like you need a little culture, there's a really good art museum. And, of course, there's always shopping on Michigan Avenue." She grinned.  
   
"Shoulda known there'd be shopping on a trip you and Rory planned."  
   
"Yeah, well I'm sure we can find a bunch of things for you guys to do, if the stuff they've got planned for the parent's weekend is lame."  
   
"Sounds good."  
   
She shrugged. "Glad to help."  
   
"I know," he said, his voice full of meaning. 

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

By the time Rory got her luggage back from the front desk, the bus had pulled up to the entrance of the hotel and some of the press had begun to load. She handed off her bags to the driver, who stowed them underneath the bus, and then she climbed the stairs into the coach. She eyed a seat a few rows back, but then hesitated, remembering her mother's advice and continued toward the back of the bus. About two-thirds of the way back, Darshana spoke quietly into her cell phone as she tapped her perfectly manicured nails on the back of the seat in front of her.  
   
Continuing past her, Rory headed toward a group of women, recognizing Meredith and Rachael among them. Taking a breath, she walked toward the group, trying to capture Rachael's eye as she chatted animatedly with the rest of the women. Rachael looked up briefly but didn't acknowledge Rory, and reluctant to force her way into the conversation, she dropped herself into the next empty seat instead.  
   
Rory slumped against the side of the bus, resting her head against the cool window; the vibration of the engine starting up a few minutes later barely registered. As they made their way out of the city, the sky stretched out in front of her, wide and blue over endless cornfields, the rustling leaves of the young plants brilliant green in the sunlight.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

"Oh my god! Could you bring this thing in any slower?" Lorelai asked, fidgeting restlessly.  
   
"Excuse me for not wanting to put a hole in my brand new boat," Luke said gruffly. When he turned to glance at Lorelai, though, he gave a knowing chuckle. "Oh, I see, someone needs to go _potty_?" he teased mercilessly.  
   
"Bathroom," she corrected. "And yes, as if you can't tell."  
   
"I told you to use the head." He pointed a thumb toward the cabin.  
   
She looked over at him in horror. "You mean that glorified Mason jar in that teeny, tiny cubicle?"  
   
"It's a portable toilet." He glanced over his shoulder at her as he steered the boat around the end of the dock.  
   
"I know. Portable. Meaning you take it out of the boat and," she screwed up her face in disgust, "clean it."  
   
"I'm failing to understand the problem. I didn't ask _you_ to clean it."  
   
"And it's a good thing," she said, pointing her index finger at him. "But the fact that it needs to be cleaned means that we're, you know, carrying it around."  
   
He let out a sputtering laugh, actually cutting back the throttle and turning in his seat to stare at her in amazement. "You know you're being ridiculous, right?"  
   
"What are you doing? Your parking spot is right there!" She pointed at the vacant slot. "What are you waiting for?"  
   
"It's called a slip," he said with a smirk.  
   
She waved frantically toward the dock. "Well, pull into it already."  
   
Letting out an exaggerated sigh, Luke turned up the throttle again and set up the boat for the turn into the slip. He carefully slid the boat into the space, the plastic bumpers hitting gently against the dock.  
   
Waiting for him to step off and steady the boat, she asked impatiently, "Where did you say the bathroom was?"  
   
"Inside the store at the marina," he answered, pointing.  
   
The words were barely out before Lorelai jumped off the boat and went in search of a fully functional bathroom — sewer lines included - relieved to find one that was both empty and clean. When she returned to the boat, she was considerably more comfortable. Luke greeted her with a raised eyebrow. "Better now?"  
   
"Much, thank you," she answered guiltily, self-conscious now that the emergency was over.  
   
"Well," he said matter-of-factly, "I hope you get over it."  
   
"Get over what?"  
   
"The fear of the portable toilet."  
   
"I'm not afraid!" she answered indignantly. "I just prefer to have my waste flushed away so that I don't have to think about it anymore." She lifted her head to meet his eyes, her lips pursed thoughtfully. "Why?"  
   
"Why what?"  
   
"Why do you care if I get over it?"  
   
He gave a nonchalant shrug. "Can't go on an overnight trip if you won't use the head."  
   
"Oh," she said softly, stunned. "Overnight trip? You want to take me on an overnight boat trip?" The thought of 'overnight' with Luke both warmed and unnerved her at the same time.  
   
He looked for a moment like he was sorry he'd brought up the idea, embarrassed even. "I don't know, maybe sometime, it might be nice," he stammered.  
   
She watched him for a moment, then smiled gently. "That does sound nice."

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

Staring out the window, her senses dulled by the monotony of the landscape, Rory barely heard the greeting. "Hey, I was wondering if you were on the bus."  
   
"Huh?" she asked, turning toward the voice. For the second time in just a few hours, she found herself caught off-guard by the undeniably cute reporter, Patrick.  
   
She caught a hint of a smirk at her surprise, but then he smiled warmly, gesturing at the seat next to her. "May I?" At her nod, he sat, then asked teasingly, "You're not hiding from me, are you? Ducked down behind the seat like that?"  
   
"Just taking in the beauty that is the 'amber waves of grain'," she says, grinning. "Or, to be exact, green, though that definitely doesn't have the same ring to it."  
   
"Well, if you can still use 'beauty' in the same sentence as 'grain', you clearly haven't spent enough time in the Midwest."  
   
"You've got me there. I've never been west of Pennsylvania."  
   
"Wow," he said, seeming for the first time surprised by something she'd said, rather than the other way around. "So you just decided to make up for that by traveling all over the country by bus? Interesting strategy." He didn't really give her a chance to reply, instead tipping his head forward and eying her seriously. "So, how'd the first day go? Was it everything you hoped it would be?"  
   
"Let's see," Rory said, ticking off on her fingers as she described her day. "I got here successfully with all of my luggage and without getting lost, I met a few people and it's possible that a couple of them don't think that I'm a fool." He frowned, opening his mouth to protest, but she kept talking. "Oh, and I scored the comfortable chair next to the outlet."  
   
"Don't forget finding the coffee. You've got a real talent for that," he added, playing along.  
   
"You know, as proud as my mother would be about that accomplishment," she said sardonically, "I'm not sure it's one for the autobiography." She turned to find him looking at her with understanding.  
   
"So, that good, huh?"  
   
She started to wave off his concern, but at the warmth in his expression, she gave a half-hearted shrug. "There's just a lot." She hesitated before going on. "There's so much I don't know. It's hard to keep up."  
   
"Yeah, I'm still trying to get used to that," he commiserated.  
   
"And I'm not even sure what to write about. My editor told me to take some time to 'get my feet wet,' whatever that means, but then he wants bi-weekly notes and longer articles every couple of weeks."  
   
"That sounds pretty much like what I do. I just summarize the significant meetings and appearances and any important policy decisions. And then write more in-depth pieces that focus on a particular political issue."  
   
Rory thought grimly of all the gaps in her notes, wondering how to judge which things were 'significant' and 'important.' She knew that he was trying to make her feel better, but it was only making her feel more inexperienced. "I'm sure I'll get the hang of it soon," she said, pushing away the uneasiness. "But enough about my day. I never even asked who you work for." 

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

Lane breathed a sigh of relief as she finally got both boys settled down to sleep. Though the walk earlier had tempered the boys' distress, there really hadn't been a moment all day during which she'd been able to relax. Now, all she wanted to do was collapse on the sofa and fall asleep to a rerun of How I Met Your Mother. Pulling a mug and teabag out of the cupboard, she filled the teakettle and leaned back against the counter as she waited for the water to heat.  
   
The kettle had barely begun to whistle when the front door opened and Zach walked in carrying a takeout bag from Luke's.  
   
"Oh, you brought food! You are my hero," Lane exclaimed gratefully.  
   
His response was matter of fact. "Thought you might be hungry." Pausing a moment, he ducked his head to look her in the eyes. "You look tired. Did the boys treat you okay today?"  
   
He looked so concerned that she thought about telling him what her day had really been like. But he was wearing that earnest 'Zach' look, the one she now knew immediately preceded a thoughtful, but often ill-conceived, plan to make things better. And in this case, any such 'plan' would surely involve him reconsidering the opportunity in front of him.  
   
"No," she reassured him, "they were good." Changing the subject, she gestured to the bag. "I am really hungry though."  
   
He nodded as he started pulling food out of the bags. "I had Caesar make up fresh fries right before I left, so everything should still be hot."  
   
"Yep, definitely my hero."  
   
Zach blushed, so to save him further embarrassment, Lane asked about his day and he told her all about Kirk's stranger than usual behavior. And she just smiled, determined to enjoy a quiet moment alone with her husband while they had the chance. 

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

Luke pulled the truck up in front of the diner and Lorelai hopped out, spotting Sookie on a walk with Martha in the stroller. "Hey, Sook," she said casually.  
   
As soon as she had her friend's attention, Sookie's eyes went wide and she gestured animatedly between Lorelai and the driver's side door, where Luke was getting out of the truck. "You didn't tell-" she admonished.  
   
"Sookie!" Lorelai whispered loudly as she walked over to the stroller.  
   
"But—but—" Sookie stammered.  
   
Thankfully oblivious to Sookie's excitement, Luke called over from the driver's side, "Hey Sookie." Then he looked at Lorelai and pointed to the bed of the truck. "I'm going to take this stuff inside and put it away."  
   
Lorelai nodded and Sookie mercifully kept her commentary quiet until Luke was inside. The moment the door swung closed however, she turned back to Lorelai. "You're back together? That's where you were today? With Luke? I ran into Kirk earlier and he wanted to know what the scoop was with you and Luke and I told him there was no scoop." She shot Lorelai an accusatory pout. "How could you not tell me there was a scoop?"  
   
"There's barely a scoop. A Baskin Robbins sample spoon maybe."  
   
"But the song," Sookie crooned, swaying dreamily, "and that party, and now you spent the day together." She grinned conspiratorially. "Where did you go, anyway?"  
   
Lorelai gave a sheepish smile. "We went out on his boat."  
   
"His boat? The new one?"  
   
She nodded.  
   
"Aww," Sookie sighed. "Reunion date on the boat." She nudged Lorelai with her elbow, winking. "If the boat's a rockin', don't come knockin'. So, on a boat, huh?"  
   
Lorelai flushed at Sookie's suggestion and quickly corrected her. "No, not that. We were just hanging out. Talking," Lorelai clarified. "I'm not even sure 'date' is the appropriate term."  
   
Sookie narrowed her eyes. "But you are back together, right?" she asked anxiously.  
   
Lorelai paused, then gave a little nod. "Something like that."  
   
Luke chose that moment to emerge from the diner, prompting a shy glance from Lorelai and a rather obvious exit by Sookie, who wore a gleeful grin.  
   
Once alone, the silence fell abruptly over them. Lorelai hugged her arms tightly against her chest, biting her lip as she focused just to the right of Luke's shoulder. She could see him shifting, unsure whether to bury his hands in his pockets or rest them on his hips.  
   
He gave a nod toward the diner. "Do you, uh, want some coffee?"  
   
"I think I need to..." Lorelai shook her head distractedly as she pointed in the general direction of her house, "get home to check on Paul Anka. He's been alone a long time today."  
   
"Okay. Well, I could—"  
   
"Is this—was this a date?" Lorelai asked, cutting him off.  
   
He seemed dumbfounded by her question. "I don't know, was it?" he asked uncertainly.  
   
"I think." Lorelai hesitated before going on. "I think that it shouldn't be." She caught a flash of wariness in his eyes and went on quickly. "I want to date you." She paused again. "Although, honestly, dating doesn't seem like quite the right word after everything..." Her voice trailed off and she grimaced uncomfortably before recovering. "But whatever we call it, I want that. With you."  
   
He ducked his head in a quick nod and she finally met his eyes, returning his soft smile. Taking a breath, she went on, "I just think, we've barely talked in a year. And I thought we should, I don't know, get to know each other again. I mean, for all I know, in the last year you got hooked on _Harry Potter_ and sucked into some internet forum. And you spend your evenings debating whether or not Dumbledore is really dead, if Hermione should be with Ron or Harry and about which side Snape is really—"  
   
He interrupted her by cupping his hand gently around her elbow. "Lorelai, it's okay. We've got time."  
   
She let out a sigh of relief. "Okay. Good. I just want to get it right this time."  
   
"He nodded. "So do I." He narrowed his eyes a bit. "For the record though, I have never visited a forum."  
   
Lorelai chuckled. "That's reassuring."  
   
"I have read the books, though," he admitted.  
   
She stared back at him in shock. "You have?"  
   
"Yeah, April loaned me her copies. She said they were required reading. Said I needed to get caught up before book seven came out."  
   
"Ah, of course." After a brief pause she pointed toward her car. "Well, I should get going."  
   
"Good night then. I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked hopefully.  
   
"Definitely," she said without moving. A moment later, the silence stretched between them awkwardly. Deciding quickly, she rested her hand on his chest and leaned in for a quick kiss. "Thank you for today," she whispered as he placed his hand over hers and squeezed it gently. "Good night."  
   
She'd only just begun to pull away when a blinding white flash exploded over Luke's shoulder. "Aha! You two are back together," she heard Kirk call triumphantly, his shape resolving behind Luke as her eyes recovered. "I've got it all right here," he said, brandishing his camera. Returning the camera to a pouch hanging off his belt, he pulled out what appeared to be a walkie-talkie and spoke into it quickly, "Operation barnyard report. The rooster has caught the hen. I repeat, the rooster has caught the hen. Digital evidence to follow."  
   
Lorelai covered her mouth with her hand, unsure whether to laugh or cry out in horror. Luke just shook his head, glancing back at her, before turning to Kirk and asking brusquely, "Does your girlfriend know that you're skulking around taking pictures of other women when you should be taking her out to dinner?"  
   
Kirk's eyes went wide as he scurried off. Luke turned back to Lorelai, still shaking his head, and all she could do was shrug in amusement.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

Rory woke to find the bus no longer on the highway but instead maneuvering through city streets. It took her a minute to remember that they'd been headed for the Twin Cities and another moment to remember that Patrick had been sitting next to her.  
   
"Morning,' he said jokingly as she glanced groggily in his direction. Lifting an eyebrow, he added, "You were completely out."  
   
She laughed uneasily. "Yeah, it was a pretty busy weekend. I got the job Friday night and spent the weekend shopping and packing and hanging out with my mom. And the town threw me this party yesterday and we got up at the crack of dawn this morning. So, not a lot of sleep this weekend."  
   
The bus had just pulled in front of the hotel and stopped. Patrick stood up and passed Rory her computer bag from the rack above the seats. "Your town threw you a party?"  
   
"Well," Rory hesitated, embarrassed. "Apparently it started as this whole graduation reenactment thing, but then when I got the job my mom had to cancel that party, so the town..." Her voice trailed off at the skeptical look on Patrick's face. He waited for her to move out of her seat, then followed her down the aisle. "You know, the more I try to explain this, the more absurd it's going to sound, but it would make more sense if you'd ever been to Stars Hollow."  
   
"Stars Hollow?"  
   
"Yeah, Stars Hollow, Connecticut. It's where I grew up." She could hear a melancholy note in her voice and covered brightly. "The festival capital of New England."  
   
"Sounds entertaining," he said, chuckling as they exited the bus and went to gather their luggage from underneath.  
   
"That's one way to put it," she said wryly.  
   
A few minutes later, having checked in and dragged their luggage to the elevator, they stood waiting. "Well, good night," Patrick said. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."  
   
Rory smiled. "I get the impression we'll be seeing a lot of each other, and the other forty people on the bus."  
   
"Yeah, you got that right." He grinned. "Nice to meet you, and welcome to the beat."  
   
She cocked her head to the side. "You too," she said warmly. "And thanks." She stepped onto the elevator and the easy grin he flashed her as the door closed put, she thought, a satisfying cap on the day.  
   
By the time she'd reached her room however, the loneliness and uncertainty had caught up with her again. As soon as she unlocked her door and stepped inside she dropped her bags into a heap on the floor and let out a long sigh.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

Lorelai pulled up to her house and turned off the car, pausing a moment before getting out and plodding up the steps. The boat trip had been a nice interlude, a way to delay this moment, but she couldn't stay away forever.  
   
When she opened the door of the house Paul Anka padded over with a reproachful look. "I know," she said apologetically as she followed him through the kitchen and let him out the back door. She leaned against the porch rail while he did his business then patted him lovingly as he passed her on his way back into the house.  
   
Walking inside, she saw him sitting in Rory's doorway and gave him a sad smile. "She's off in the real world. It's just you and me now, buddy." Smiling to herself, she added, "And maybe every once in a while, Luke."  
   
He turned toward her so deliberately he almost seemed to understand her, but then he plodded off to curl up on the sofa and Lorelai was left staring forlornly into Rory's room.  
   
Remembering the earlier call, Lorelai pulled out her phone and prepared to dial. Once Rory's name came up on the display though, she hesitated, and after a long moment of consideration, snapped the phone shut. Glancing around the room once more, she spotted the "World's Greatest Reporter" cap that her daughter had left behind. Picking it up by the brim, she held it out in front of her, smiling proudly. With a satisfied sigh, she finally turned toward the living room, putting the hat on backwards as she joined Paul Anka on the couch.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

Rory had occupied herself by 'moving in' as much as was appropriate for a two-day hotel stay: her garment bag was hanging in the closet, her overnight bag was in the bathroom, her various power cords had been located in preparation for charging their respective pieces of equipment, and all of her notes were strewn across her bed. She glanced over at her computer, where the multiple Firefox windows still taunted her.

She picked up her phone and pressed the button that brought up the most recently called number, watching her mother's name flash across the display. She hesitated with her finger hovering over the call button, unsure she could muster the excitement that her mom would expect to hear. Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose while she snapped the phone shut and reached for the AC adapter.

Rory stared at her computer with grim determination, settled down on the bed amongst her papers and pulled the computer onto her lap. She checked the first name mentioned in her briefing notes and then opened a new Google search window.

 

_To be continued..._


	2. Episode 8.02 "Nice Boys Bring You Coffee, Good Ones Bring you Home"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Episode 8:02 written by Lula Bo**
> 
> Rory's coping with unexpected criticism from her editor and Lorelai is dodging continued calls from Emily, but both girls find a bright spot in new relationships. Lorelai is slowly starting over with Luke, while Rory's making a friend on the road. The girls agree: nice boys bring you coffee, good ones bring you home!
> 
> The Gilmore Girls Virtual Seasons: It's not over 'til we say it is!
> 
> Episode originally published October 2nd, 2007.

 

Author's Note: Thanks to Avery and sosmitten for being badass, awesome betas as always, and to jenepel and adina for their patience! Feedback is love.

 

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The Gilmores' dining room was silent, save the scrape and clink of silverware on china and the occasional, timid cough. Lorelai glanced up from her _coq au vin_ , eyeing her parents warily as she reached for her wine glass. She took a long sip and closed her eyes against the empty chair across from her. Holding her glass loosely in one hand, she leaned her chin in her palm and took a fortifying breath.  
  
"Did you know _coq au vin_ means 'rooster with wine'?" she asked. "Kinda less appealing when you know it's supposed to be Foghorn Leghorn and not one of those corn-fed yellow Perdue chickens."  
  
Emily lifted her eyes and set her mouth primly, her silverware poised over her plate. "Is there a problem with your meal, Lorelai? You used to love this dish, didn't you?"  
  
Lorelai glanced down the table at her father, startled at the reminder, and Richard shook his head just slightly. Lorelai tossed her hair and affected her best smile. "I did—I do! I do, I like _coq au vin_ a lot. The meal is great, Mom." She paused, because it wouldn't be polite to say she had just been making conversation. "Just weird things you pick up working around a chef all day. How much better was my life before I really knew what a _lardon_ was?" She tucked her chin down and tried to hide her chagrined expression behind the curtain of her hair.  
  
"And how is... Sookie?" Richard asked, swallowing thickly, after another long, silent moment.  
  
"Oh, you know. Pregnant," Lorelai said. She sighed and took a sip of her wine. "We're busting our—" She stopped herself and cleared her throat. "We're really working hard to make things easier when she goes on maternity leave this time."  
  
Emily smiled tightly. "Yes, you told us during drinks. I hope she's not working too hard? She shouldn't be on her feet so much," she replied, her tone curiously encouraging.  
  
Lorelai blinked. "She's okay. No bed rest quite yet. She might be crazy, but at least her food's still good." Emily nodded, her eyes wide as though she expected Lorelai to go on. She said nothing, but continued tucking into her chicken. Lorelai pointed at her own plate with the sharp end of her knife. "And so is this. This is some _good_ rooster with wine."  
  
"I'm glad you're enjoying it," Emily replied. "I hoped you might. I know you like _coq au vin_ ," she said again. Another moment passed, and she wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin. Her eyes met her husband's briefly across the table, and she turned to her daughter with set shoulders and a determined brow. "Have you heard from Rory lately?"  
  
Lorelai swallowed a bite of mushrooms and onion, nodding. "Mm, got an email this afternoon. It seems like things are going well, she's getting to know people. She's got her own seat on the bus, she's finding her way around the places they're going. She's Rory, you know. She's always good."  
  
"That's comforting to hear," Emily said. "Send her our love." She lifted her wine glass to her lips and paused before taking a drink. "Tell her we miss her."  
Lorelai murmured in response and drained the rest of her wine glass. She pushed the remains of her dinner around the plate before her, hearing Foghorn Leghorn's stuttering _I say I say I say_ in her head as she poked at a particularly fat thigh with the tines of her fork.  
  
"More wine, anyone?" Richard asked.  
  
Emily and Lorelai spoke in unison: "God, yes."

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There was not much near the hotel in—Rory squinted up and down the avenue, trying to remember where, exactly, she was this morning—Dubuque that screamed _local flavor_. She hazarded her chances at the deli just down the block, the Starbucks across the street, and when exactly she could count on the bus leaving. Harlan, their driver for the week, had been reliably seven minutes late for the past four days at every stop. She figured she had just enough time to sprint down the street, collect her coffee and her thoughts, and get her ass in her seat before the bus left without her.  
  
She stood a moment in line, her money at the ready as she craned to see the deli's meager breakfast offerings. Just as she approached the counter, her cell phone rang in her purse. She fumbled to answer as she asked for a large black French roast and a chocolate muffin.  
  
"Morning," she said. "Did you know on the road there's no such thing as a weekend?"  
  
"Rough morning?" Lorelai asked.  
  
"Haven't had anything other than those 'instant coffee crystals' they put in your hotel room," she lamented. The clerk behind the counter handed her the bagged muffin and an empty cup, pointing her to the line of pump-carafes on the adjacent wall. "Thanks, sorry. Thanks," she said to him, dropping the handful of change into the tip cup beside the register. As she tripped her way towards the coffee dispensers, she told her mother, "I should blame you for passing on your raging coffee addiction and subjecting me to mornings like this, but I'm too under caffeinated to engage in that particular battle."  
  
Lorelai chuckled sympathetically. "Sorry, hon. But maybe I can make it up to you. Want to hear my great idea?"  
  
"You had a great idea?" Rory asked, tucking the cell between her chin and shoulder. It was awkward, balancing the phone while trying to hold the cardboard cup under the coffee dispenser as she pumped it. She sucked her breath over her teeth as the cup grew hotter and hotter in her hand but persevered, her eyes on the clock over the door.  
  
 "Don't sound so surprised, Miss I-Like-To-Have-Three-Great-Ideas-A-Day," Lorelai retorted. "I do, occasionally."  
  
 "I told you that in the first grade, Mom," Rory sighed. "It's not like I have actively tried to keep it up in the last fifteen years."  
  
 Lorelai snorted. "You lie, little girl. You have a journal for it and everything."  
  
 Rory glanced out the window towards the bus, still idling several store fronts down. Four minutes, she thought. "I'm officially ignoring this argument. What was your great idea?"  
  
 She could almost hear her mother grinning as she spoke. "I think you need to invent a teleportation device in your spare time."  
  
 "A teleportation device," Rory said flatly. She stepped out on the sidewalk and began negotiating her way along the suddenly-crowded roadside. "In my spare time."  
  
 "Yes. I figure that's the best way for you to attend Friday Night Dinners with me and your grandparents without disrupting your campaign schedule. See, great idea, right? Maximum benefit, minimum effort. You could just bloop-bloop in and out like Kirk." She paused. "Captain Kirk, not our Kirk. Don't ever do anything like our Kirk."  
  
 Rory was breathless, nearly running as she replied. "Doesn't sound so much like 'minimum effort' to me as much as 'inventing a scientifically impossible vehicle for your convenience.'"  
  
 "Hey, if the Time Lords can do it..."  
  
"Mom, could you _please_ stop watching the SciFi channel in the middle of the night?"  
  
"Why are you so out of breath?" Lorelai asked. "Hon?"  
  
Rory skidded to a stop just as Harlan had put the bus in drive. She looked at him pleadingly through the closed glass doors, gesturing with her coffee cup. The doors hissed as they opened for her, Harlan shaking his head.  
  
 "Don't be late," he said.  
  
 "I won't be again," she replied. "Thank you, really." With that, she dropped into the seat she'd begun to think of as hers and turned her face toward the window. "Had to run to catch the bus," she told Lorelai. "Just made it." She glanced around—the others were either listening to iPods, working on laptops, or dozing. "Give Grandma and Grandpa a chance, Mom. You'll get used to each other."  
  
 "Oh, forty years of trying may prove you wrong there, sweets," Lorelai sighed. "Enjoy your coffee, I'll talk to you later."  
  
Rory pocketed her phone and cradled her coffee to her chest, her eyes closed.

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 Even for a Saturday, the mid-morning rush today was particularly busy. As he navigated the front of the diner, Luke cast a dark look at Zach, who stood by the counter. He leaned on his hip, a pot of coffee in one hand, scratching his chin thoughtfully with the other.  
  
"You gonna pour from that thing, or is it purely ornamentation?" Andrew asked, gesturing to the steaming coffee pot in Zach's hand.  
  
 He poured, rolling his eyes. "Be nice, man. It's just coffee."  
  
 Luke hurried past as Zach poured the coffee, his hands full of dirty dishes. He shouted something to Caesar in the kitchen, hitched his pants up at his waist, and started back towards the table windows to take an order.  
  
 "Hey, boss," Zach called, trailing after him. "Got an idea for you."  
  
"Kinda busy for ideas, Zach," Luke said shortly. "What can I get you folks?"  
  
 Zach stood at Luke's elbow as two women ordered, followed him as he stalked back to the kitchen muttering ("another friggin' set of egg white omelets"), and put himself directly in Luke's path before his boss could get back to the dining area. Luke tried to elbow past him, but Zach danced there with him in the kitchen, not letting him by.  
  
"I'm gonna pour that coffee over your head in two seconds, Zach," Luke growled. "It's busy."  
  
 "It is, boss. Which is why I wanted to talk to you. Lane's not going to be back for another few months, I'm going on tour soon. I just think it's time we talk about you hiring someone else."  
  
 Luke sighed heavily. "I think I can handle that Zach, when the time comes."  
  
 "Time's here, boss! We have to get someone in here now! And I know just the dude."  
  
 He stared dully at Zach a moment before ducking past him towards the counter. "Zach, I really don't want any of your 'dudes,' okay? I'll hire someone when I need to hire someone." He stepped out front, and his face broke into a wide smile when he saw who waited there for him. "Hey."  
  
 Lorelai's grin was equally brilliant. "Hey, yourself." She perched on a stool at the counter, rested her chin atop her folded hands. "So."  
  
 "So what can I get you?" Luke asked, leaning towards her.  
  
 "I don't know," she said airily, casting her eyes upwards. "What can you get me?"  
  
"Whatever you like," he returned.  
  
 She smirked. "I'll take whatever's good."  
  
 "Everything's good here," Luke said, cocking an eyebrow.  
  
Zach rolled his eyes. "Dudes, come on. Lame."  
  
Luke stood upright, crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't you have a job to do, Zach? Or are you ready to leave for that tour right now? 'Cause I could accommodate that if—"  
  
"On it, boss," Zach said hastily. He lifted the coffee pot in his hand. "Coffee?" he asked Lorelai.  
  
Luke waved him away. "That's decaf. I got a fresh pot here."  
  
Lorelai thanked him and watched Zach saunter to the back of the diner. She turned her face back to Luke, shaking her head a little. "So..." she sighed. "That was flirting. We were flirting in front of Zach."  
  
He nodded. "Seemed that way."  
  
 "I hate to say it," she said, wrinkling her nose, "but he's not wrong. It _was_ kinda lame."  
  
 Luke passed a hand over his eyes, scratched his jaw. "Is that okay, flirting?" he asked.  
  
"I think so," she mused. Her smile was chagrined. "We probably should do some more, though. Because, damn, we're rusty."  
  
He crouched to her level, resting his forearms on the countertop. "Got some ideas about that," he said.  
  
 "Oh?" she asked, mimicking him and leaning closer. "Ideas, huh? Better be good, because I was mocked for having an idea just this morning, and I feel the need to spread it around a little."  
  
 Luke studied her a moment, and she flushed. "I'm not telling you what they are yet, I just thought..." He took a breath. "We said we'd go slow, but I figure it's about time for a first date."  
  
 She snorted into her coffee a little. "'First date?' Luke, don't you think it's a little late for that? I mean..."  
  
"No," he said affably, "I think we should. Fresh start, right?"  
  
 It was Lorelai's turn to study him, and she held his gaze a moment before ducking her head, a soft smile on her lips. "Sure. First date. Why not? It has a nice sense of occasion to it." She pointed to the donut case. "Can I get a couple of those? And what do you have in mind?"  
  
 "I'll take care of it," he said. "You want these to go?"  
  
 "He'll take care of it," she remarked to no one in particular. "Sure he will. To go, please, I should be at work by now."  
  
 He handed her a paper bag, winking as he said, "Save Thursday night for me."  
  
 "Consider it saved," she replied, getting to her feet. "I'll call you later."  
  
 Luke leaned over the counter toward her once more, staring teasingly at her mouth. After a moment, he pulled back. "Have a good day, Lorelai."  
  
She rolled her eyes as she walked away from the counter, swinging the paper bag in her hand as she went. "Going slow," she muttered. " _Check_."

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 Her cell began to ring just as Lorelai pulled up to the Dragonfly and stepped out of the Jeep. She fumbled a moment to find it in her purse, the paper bag of donuts clamped in her teeth and her coffee held high in her free hand. She managed to extract the phone, flipping it open before she could read the caller ID or lose the call.  "'Lo?"  
  
"Lorelai? You sound awful."  
  
She wedged the phone under her chin and grabbed the bag of donuts in her free hand. "Thanks, Mom. And how are you today?" she asked, her voice falsely bright. "'Cause _you_ sound _terrific_."  
  
Emily rolled her eyes. "You're always so sarcastic. I'm only calling to tell you I'll be at _La Spiaggia_ all day, so I'll be unavailable if you need to speak to me for any reason."  
  
"Okay." She waited. "Thanks?"  
  
" _La Spiaggia_ , Lorelai, it's a day spa?"  
  
Lorelai let herself into the kitchen, waved hello to Sookie. "And here I thought you were headed to the new Green Acres."  
  
 "Well, I figured I would do some research, get some first hand experience of the local competition. I was _thinking_ of taking notes, if you'd like to have some sort of list to go over."  
  
 "What for?" Lorelai asked around a bite of chocolate donut. Sookie wandered over, her face a question mark; Lorelai shrugged, pointing a finger at her temple and rolling it in a circle. _My mother_ , she mouthed.  
  
 "For the spa, Lorelai!" Emily cried, exasperated. "Does nothing stay in your head? Is it just all air and cartoon cats up there, or do you retain anything? Perhaps you do, just not conversations with _your mother_."  
  
 Lorelai closed her eyes and pressed her lips together a moment before she let herself speak. "Sorry, Mom, it just wasn't...I mean, it didn't immediately occur to me, what you might be talking about."  
  
 "Sometimes I think you don't listen to a word I say," Emily sighed.  
  
 "I do, Mother. Believe me, I do." She took a sip of coffee and drew a long breath. "Go ahead and take notes. Knock yourself out." She screwed up her face, preparing herself. "I can't wait to read them."  
  
"Yes, your enthusiasm is overwhelming," Emily drawled. "We'll see you Friday."  
  
 Sookie brandished the coffee pot beside Lorelai, offering to freshen her cup. "What was that about?"  
  
 Lorelai glanced at her partner. "My mother has a new project."  
  
"Ah," Sookie said, nodding. "Heaven help us all."  
  
"Amen and pour the coffee, sister."

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Her editor had been nothing but nice since the beginning of the call, but Rory couldn't help slumping low in her seat in the hotel lounge, chastened and mute.  
  
"So if there's nothing else, just keep sending those pages and we'll see where we go from there."  
  
"Thanks, Michael," Rory said, keeping her voice as even as she could. "I appreciate the extra time."  
  
"If you have any questions, feel free to give me a call," Michael said easily. "It's just fine tuning, Rory. We know you can do it."  
  
They said their goodbyes, and Rory slouched even more where she sat. She poked at her lower lip with her forefinger, her brow knit in thought. She began flipping through her notes from the phone conference, scribbled on a legal pad in blue ink. She squinted, trying to read something she'd smudged with the heel of her hand while writing over the fresh ink. The voice at her shoulder startled her so much, she threw her pen in the air.  
  
Rory looked up to see Patrick chuckling at her. They both bent to retrieve the pen at the same time, their fingers brushing as they reached for it. Rory withdrew quickly, nearly banging her head against his as she sat up again.  
  
"Thanks," she said. "You startled me."  
  
"No, really?" he teased. "I didn't mean to—saying your name didn't seem to cut through the Cone of Silence you were in, I should have realized. I was on my way out for some food, I thought I'd ask if you want some. But you look serious."  
  
She rubbed her forehead absently. "I was just thinking, that's all."  
  
He sat on the arm of her chair, crossed his arms and regarded her with an expectant look. "About?"  
  
"I had a meeting with my editor about the notes I've been sending. I've apparently been going in the wrong direction with them." She sighed. "You know, of all the journalists I wanted to be growing up, I can't say that Carrie Bradshaw ever made the list."  
  
"He didn't say that," Patrick said, laughing a little. "You're not serious."  
  
"He may as well have!" Rory said. "My notes are too informal, too 'undergrad poli/sci blog.' And they're too girly."  
  
Patrick shook his head. "Now I know he couldn't have said that."  
  
"He _alluded_ to a sense of naïveté and political awe in my writing. He basically called me a starry-eyed neophyte." She began to gather her papers and shove them into her carry-on tote. "He also wanted me to 'firm up' some of the writing, since it felt 'a little loose' to him. Which I understand—I mean, I know the things an editor has to say to get what he wants from a writer, but..." She shouldered the bag and sat with it on her lap a moment. Patrick said nothing, silently encouraging her to continue. "I don't know. I didn't think I'd be on the receiving end of that particular lecture. My writing is usually the one thing I can depend on, but apparently my style isn't cutting it this time."  
  
Patrick stood and offered her a hand. "All right, soldier," he said. "Man up. It can be done. There's a reason you got the job, right?"  
  
She tipped her head in agreement. "It's just discouraging. But you're right, man up. I'll just have to work harder."  
  
"It's probably not a matter of working _harder_ , just working _differently_ ," Patrick said. "I know I haven't been at this much longer than you have, but if you just want someone to take a second look, give you some feedback, I'd be happy to do it. I've been where you are—it sucks learning the ropes, you know? The sooner, the better."  
  
Rory studied him; he seemed genuine and, more than that, friendly. She wasn't in a position to turn down friends, and if she was honest with herself, she was grateful for the attention and the offer. "You wouldn't mind?"  
  
He spread his hands. "I offered, didn't I?"  
  
She smiled at him. "Thanks. I appreciate it, really—I'll email you some stuff tonight, we can talk about it whenever."  
  
"It's not like we won't be seeing each other," he said, winking at her. "I look forward to reading your stuff."  
  
She thanked him again, and they went their separate ways: he, in search of tacos, she, to the elevator and her room. Rory watched the elevator doors closing, ready to put the day behind her.

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Lorelai sat in the center of her couch, her tongue between her teeth. Since Babette had taken her skein winder back, Lorelai had had to wind her yarn into balls by hand, which she could only do in the morning on odd days of the calendar or risk freaking Paul Anka out. It was also something she could do while watching TV, talking to Rory on the phone, and eating only the red and orange jelly beans out of the bag.  
  
"So Luke still won't tell me where we're going, just to dress casual," she said. "Which tells me we are not going to any sort of period event, black tie gala, or any place Posh and Becks might hang out."  
  
"Keep hope alive on that one, Mom," Rory laughed. "They are coming to America."  
  
Lorelai paused to untangle a knot in the middle of her skein. "So tell me more about this meeting with Michael. How're you doing? On a scale of 'Sloop John B' to 'I Get Around.'"  
  
"'God Only Knows,'" Rory shot back. "Patrick said he'd help me out and read some of my stuff, so I emailed him last night. I don't know what I'm expecting him to say, but more feedback can't hurt. I haven't seen him today, yet."  
  
"Patrick, hmm?" Lorelai asked, grinning.  
  
Rory rolled her eyes. "Stop with the tone, Mom. I don't even want to think about stuff like that right now. I'm concentrating on doing my job well."  
  
"You can do your job well _and_ have a social life, you know," Lorelai countered. "He's cute, right?"  
  
 "Not the point," Rory insisted. "I practically _just_ broke up with Logan, who asked me to marry him, if you remember?"  
  
 "I remember," she said dryly.  
  
 "So I don't want to get involved in anything like that right now, it's too soon. Besides, he's a colleague, I just want to keep things professional."  
  
 "You never know," Lorelai said. "The election's a long way off." She took a breath to continue, but it caught in her throat at the sound of her call waiting beeping. "Hon, I have another call, shoot me an email later today, okay? I want to know how things are going." Rory assured her she would. Lorelai fumbled with the phone to hop to the other call, nearly dropping it as she tried to find the "flash" button and ended up pushing most of the others in the process, as well. "Hello?"  
  
 "Lorelai, good, you're home. I was hoping to talk to you today. What was all that noise before?"  
  
 Lorelai pulled a face. "Hey, Mom. I was just on the phone with Rory, and my hands are full, so I had a little trouble getting over to you."  
  
 "You were talking with Rory?" Emily asked, her tone slightly pitiful. "How is she? Is she doing all right on the road? Oh, tell her we miss her."  
  
 "I will when I talk to her again, Mom. So how was the spa?" The moment she heard herself say it, she winced in regret.  
  
 "Oh, I have _so_ many ideas!" Emily enthused. "I _really_ think we should sit down together and go over these things, there are just _so_ many options! First of all, the service there was atrocious..."  
  
Lorelai looked around the room, needing some sort of excuse. She had clocked her mother once, and she could go on interrupted for twenty-two minutes at a clip without stopping for conversational input. Paul Anka lolled at the foot of the couch, his paws in the air, and looked up at Lorelai with sleepy eyes. He had yarn twined around his nose and ears. She blew a kiss at him.  "You know, Mom, much as I would love to hear about that, Paul Anka's gotten himself all tangled up in my yarn and he's about to cut off his air supply, so I have to get him straightened out, and then I have to go to work. Why don't we talk about this later? I'll give you a call, okay?"  
  
"But, Lorelai—"  
  
"Asphyxiating asthmatic dog, Mom, have to go! Bye!" she trilled. With a sigh, she threw aside the yarn ball in her hand and crouched down beside Paul Anka, rubbing his belly with both hands. "Oh, Paul Anka. Your timing is even better than your namesake's."

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 Rory was close to dropping off to sleep in the middle of watching _The Office_ finale on her laptop as the bus rattled along yet another stretch of Midwestern highway. There had been little of consequence that day, as the Senator was in Washington and the press corps were merely covering campaign events hosted by local political groups hoping to raise awareness and mostly, Rory noted, money. She had a handful of scattered notes collected on her laptop and an email due the next day to her editor with more thoughts on Obama's grassroots supporters. Karen and Jim were dorking around New York City together when Patrick slid into the seat beside Rory and gently tapped her elbow.  
  
"Oh, hey," she said, sitting up and taking off her head phones. "How's it going?"  
  
He shrugged with one shoulder, looking as tired as she. "Was it me, or was today one of those days that make you feel like the whole thing is sorta pointless?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know," she replied, stifling a yawn. "There's something about small town politics that's sort of fascinating to me. It's a microcosm of the entire political machine, but each place has its own idiosyncrasies. And sometimes, they're named Taylor."  
  
He nodded, and they were quiet together for a moment, watching the silent goings-on of _The Office_ on Rory's screen. "So I got a chance to look at the pages you sent me."  
  
She stiffened. "Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah. You know, you're a good writer, you have a really unique voice. I thought about what your editor told you about tightening up the loose spots and making things a little more formal, and I, uh—" He paused, reached into the bag slung over his side, and produced a wrinkled packet of pages that looked as though he'd clutched them in his fist the entire day. "I made some notes for you. I think part of what he's saying is that the writing feels a little self-conscious."  
  
"Self-conscious," she echoed.  
  
He grimaced. "I'm sorry, that sounds terrible, but it's just—I went online last night and read a lot of your other stuff, what you wrote for the _Yale Daily News_ and that online magazine last year, and your writing was really polished, but unaffected, you know?"  
  
"You think what I'm doing now is affected?" she asked, unable to keep the slight note of panic from her voice. "Like I'm some poseur?"  
  
He thought about it a moment longer than she was comfortable with. "Not a poseur, no, but... it doesn't sound like print reporting _or_ the New Journalism, it sounds like you're trying to write from the inside of an exclusive circle, and that's not really what your publication's about, and it's not the way you write, and all that shows."  
  
Rory averted her eyes. On her computer screen, Dwight was talking to the camera with a pinched, intense look on his face. "Oh," she said. "Well, thanks for taking a look. It's good to get specifics." She didn't avert her gaze from the computer; instead, she watched Pam give Dwight a strange, seriocomic nod. After a beat, she glanced back at Patrick. "You wrote all this down?"  
  
Patrick, looking somewhat flushed, handed her the crinkled pages. "Here. I hope it helps."  
  
She managed a half-hearted smile. "Me, too."  
  
"I mean it," he said earnestly. "You're a good writer. It's just different than what you used to write—it seems like you did a lot of features, human interest stuff. There's a different focus here, that's all. You'll find your way into it."  
  
She smoothed the papers he handed her. There was another moment of awkward, strained silence, during which Rory could hear the distant clack of someone else's fingers on a keyboard, the incomprehensible murmuring of a cell phone conversation, and the click and whir of the bus against the highway. "I appreciate the time you took," she said, at length.  
  
"Sure," he said, getting wearily to his feet. "Not like there was too much going on today." He paused just before he returned to his seat a few rows up. "It's a new job, Rory. Your first one, too—it takes some time to get used to. Being on the road doesn't help, but at least there are people around who get it. It just takes time," he repeated.  
  
He waved a goodbye, and Rory offered a small smile in return. When he was safely in his own seat, she shoved the papers into her bag without looking at them, backed up the show on her computer, and put her headphones on.

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It had taken Lorelai twenty minutes to tell Luke the story of her attempt to make brownies the night before, which was a quarter of the time she said it'd taken to make them. He sat back against the far counter, listening to her with a half-bemused, half-skeptical expression on his face.  
  
"Why would you try to make brownies, again?" he asked.  
  
Lorelai rolled her eyes. "Because, Luke, what if, during a life spent relying on Duncan Heinz and the kindness of others, I have been repressing my inner culinary genius?"  
  
"Your inner culinary genius that makes exclusively brownies?" he asked.  
  
"It's a very specific kind of genius," she said loftily. "But it is, unfortunately, also one I do not possess."  
  
"A tragic and shocking discovery," he replied. "Did you eat them anyway?"  
  
Lorelai sipped her coffee. "No comment." She looked at him over the rim of her cup. "So this date on Thursday..."  
  
"No details," he said, striding away from her to wipe the far end of the counter.  
  
"I can't even guess?"  
  
He looked over at her. "You want to guess?"  
  
Lorelai closed her eyes in mock-thoughtfulness. "Does it involve animal, vegetable, or mineral?"  
  
 "Nope."  
  
"I'd assume not Gilbert and Sullivan, either?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
Lorelai shook her head, smiling at him fondly. "Okay, so no hints then. Sniffy's?"  
  
"Not Sniffy's," he said. "Fresh start, remember?"  
  
She said nothing in reply, only grinned in a goofy way and tossed her hair over her shoulder, playing her finger around the rim of her coffee cup. His expression was just as smitten and unselfconscious, until the moment Zach stepped out of the kitchen and whistled at them both.  
  
"You guys totally need to leave here right now or put some serious distance between you before this place erupts in sparkles and rainbows like the My Little Pony Rainbow Crystal Palace," he said.  
  
"Familiar, are you, Zach, with the My Little Pony Rainbow Crystal Palace?" Lorelai asked.  
  
He shrugged. "I got cousins. Speaking of which, boss man, my cousin Brennan would be totally rad for this job. He's kind of a dork, but I'm telling you, he will deliver."  
  
 Lorelai snorted into her coffee. "I'm sorry, Brennan Butt Napkin Boy?"  
  
Luke pointed at Zach. "You, do some work." He swung to point at Lorelai. "And you. Don't start."  
  
"The butt napkin returns to Luke's," she laughed, getting off her stool. "See you tomorrow, boss man." 

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

It was hard to keep Sookie focused on the reservation book; as she and Lorelai sorted through the bookings for the next few months, she kept getting weepy and nostalgic for the last time they'd done this, before Martha was born. Lorelai kept reminding her they had time, but Sookie eventually retreated to the kitchen in frustrated tears at letting someone, once again, take over the kitchen.  
  
"This is my kitchen! And I will not have tofu anywhere near it, okay? Because I can deal with soy, and edamame is actually quite tasty when you season it properly," she sobbed, "but _tofu_ , Lorelai, I cannot _handle the tofu_."  
  
She patted her friend on the back and walked her back to the kitchen. "Okay, sweetie. I promise. I won't let Michel bring that stuff into your kitchen."  
  
"Ever again," she burbled.  
  
Lorelai smiled tightly. "Although we may have to revisit soy-based cuisine in the near future, Sook, just to keep abreast of the times." She wrinkled her nose. "That, and my mother is an unstoppable force who wants to spend time with me, which I can neither avoid nor deny in good conscience anymore, so we may have to throw our aspirations away and embrace the Tofu Revolution. Probably before we're ready, but that is the nature of change."  
  
Sookie wiped her nose with the hem of her apron. "What?"  
  
"My mother," she said. "Her project." She rolled her eyes. "How do you feel about spas?"  
  
"Spas?"  
  
Michel, walking past the kitchen, stopped with a gasp. "Spas! Who is discussing _spas_? Oh, please tell me you are over your ri _dic_ ulous notion that country inns cannot be—"  
  
"Keep walking, Michel," Sookie intoned.  
  
He sniffed. "You are living in the past," he called as he walked away.  
  
Lorelai shifted uncomfortably. "He might not be wrong. We should talk about it. Not now, but soon."  
  
She was on the threshold to the kitchen when the hairs on the back of her neck tingled just slightly. Her whole body tensed a moment before she gave in, dropping her chin to her chest and shuffling through the dining room to the foyer. Just when she came into her mother's eye line, Lorelai lifted her head and plastered a smile to her face.  
  
"Mom. You're here!" she trilled. "Who's home with baby Jane?"  
  
"Do you know there's dust on your banister?" Emily replied.  
  
Lorelai took a breath. "What can I do for you, Mom?"  
  
Emily turned in a circle where she stood, halfway between the door and the stairs. "It is a small space. Best start in the back, I think."  
  
"Start in the back for what?" Lorelai asked. "Mom?"  
  
She brushed past her daughter, pausing in the hall between the kitchen and dining room. "This is really going to be a project," she mused to herself. "This space. This is an unusual space."  
  
"An unusual space for what?" Lorelai asked, tripping behind her mother. She heard herself gasp when Emily produced a tape measure from the depths of her purse. "Mother, what are you doing?"  
  
Emily glanced over her shoulder, crouched down with her tape at the corner of the hall. "Taking measurements, Lorelai."  
  
"Oh, jeez." Lorelai ran a hand through her hair. "Mom, honestly? Now is probably not the best time to do this."  
  
"And what is a good time, Lorelai?" Emily asked, drawing herself to her full height. "The twelfth of never, perhaps?"  
  
"Woman's got the memory of an elephant," Lorelai said to the air beside her, crossing her arms over her chest. "It might just be better to do this during off hours. Or at a time when we've scheduled it."  
  
Emily sighed. "Lorelai, if you don't want to do this..."  
  
"Mom, no, it's not that I don't want to do this, it's that I don't want to do this _right now_. I just have a lot of things going on right now, and I think it might not be the best time to throw yet another new thing into the mix. Because the mixer's really full right now. Like, Paula Deen could not fit more butter in this mixer, Mom, that is how full it is."  
  
"And what, Lorelai, is taking up so much room in the mixer? It seems to me that you'd have some time to fill now that Rory's gone, what with your trip being cancelled and—"  
  
"Thanks for that reminder, Mom," Lorelai intoned, rolling her eyes. "Can we just talk about this later? Not in the middle of my work day?"  
  
"Really, Lorelai, if your life is _so full_ right now, how am I to know you're ever going to have the time to indulge your mother's silliness?"  
  
Lorelai softened. "Mom, come on. It's not like that. It's just hard right now, with Rory being gone, I'm still trying to get used to her being _gone_ , not just at school. And we have to plan for Sookie's maternity leave, and it's been busy here because of that, and just... everything. I just feel like I have a lot on my plate right now."  
  
Emily did not look convinced. "Yes, that sounds terribly taxing. There must be something else."  
  
"Nothing else," Lorelai said firmly. "But maybe we can talk about this later. And as long as you're here, you can talk to Sookie about that DAR brunch next month? She's made up a great tasting menu, I bet she'd love to go over that with you before you have the sample lunch next week." She paused. "Just don't ask her about tofu. She's not ready for it yet."

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

Rory found it demoralizing that her only options for coffee at this particular stop were chains or gas stations. There was not a local haunt to be found at this hour, and the line at the Caribou Coffee she'd finally settled on was ridiculous. She was cutting it close, too, since Harlan seemed to have gotten his act together and could no longer be trusted to be seven minutes late. She thought he'd given up smoking, and it was perhaps the first time in her life she wished someone had the courtesy enough to keep the habit for her sake. As it was, she was cursing his newly turned leaf as she ran towards the corner where he'd stopped the bus, her shoes in one hand, her coffee in the other.  
  
He gave her the stink eye when he opened the door for her; she was so out of breath, she couldn't properly thank him for letting her on or _apologize_ to the other passengers for being the Late Girl yet again. She deposited herself in a seat, her face red, and rested her cheek against the window as she silently berated herself, her mother, and the accursed coffee addiction that ruled her mornings.  
  
"It's really sad, witnessing the disintegration of a junkie."  
  
Rory looked up, startled, to find Patrick looming over her seat, swaying with the motion of the bus. She squinted at him. "It'll be even more harrowing in the biopic based on my life when Sienna Miller tries to nail a New England accent," she said. She nodded to the paper bag in his hand. "Are you taunting me with sugar, now, too?"  
  
"Less taunting than offering," he said. He gestured to the empty space beside her. "May I?" He waited, and at her nod, eased himself into the seat beside her. "I bring you peace offerings from the local patisserie. Ruthie's, it's called. The blueberry crumble will supposedly knock your socks off."  
  
"Peace offering?" she asked, confused. "Patrick..."  
  
He held the bag out to her. "I was condescending the other day, I'm sorry about that. It's not like I'm so experienced I can go around telling people what's wrong with their work."  
  
Rory took the proffered bag with a smile. "Well, you weren't totally off-base. I read your comments. They were smart." She peeked in the bag. "Dear lord that smells good." He laughed. "I'm sorry if I seemed—if I didn't take it well, afterwards. This whole thing so far feels like my first year at the _Yale Daily News_ , the hazing, you know? You write trial articles, and if they like the trial articles, they put you through this Hell Night and if you survive _that_ , you get to write whatever they hand you. I feel like I'm still walking around with that stupid tri-corner hat on my head."  
  
Patrick's brow puckered. "A tri-corner hat?" he asked.  
  
 She felt the heat rise in her face. "Oh, it's a... on Hell Night? They make you wear a hat made out of newspaper so everyone else knows you're the little freshman trying to get a space with the upper classmen. I feel like it's still there and _everyone_ can see it." She gestured towards the crown of her head and waved her arm broadly, forgetting the cup of coffee in her hand until she'd knocked it against the window. The loosened top came free and the contents splattered over her shoulder and neck, spraying Patrick as well. The liquid was no longer searing, but hot enough to make her curse and nearly rise from her seat when she'd realized she'd spilled nearly all of it down the back of her coat and a good portion of that over Patrick's right side.  
  
 After a chorus of "sorry, sorry, sorry"s and some frenzied dabbing with paper napkins, Rory began to laugh. She pointed at her head again.  
  
"See? Newspaper hat. Total freak spaz freshman." She sighed, smiling ruefully. "Sorry about your coat."  
  
 "Eh," he said. "Dry-cleaning. At least you saved the crumble. And," he added, reaching across the aisle, "someone had the forethought to get you a second coffee, at least."  
  
 "Pusher," she laughed, relieved when he chuckled, too.  
  
 He sat beside her as she ate her breakfast, wanting to know more about this paper hat phenomenon. "Is this a competitive thing?"  
  
"It's Yale," she told him, her mouth full of blueberries. "Morning _beverage_ selection is competitive."  
  
"Isn't it always?" he teased.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

The sidewalk was crowded as Luke and Lorelai shuffled from the restaurant with their fellow patrons. They stood together on the curb a moment, readjusting to the heavy humidity of early summer after the stifling, over-air-conditioned atmosphere of the club. Luke rocked on his heels, his hands in his pockets, letting the crowd thin around him. Lorelai glanced at him sidelong.  
  
 "So that was really bad, right?" she asked.  
  
 "Oh, really bad," he agreed.  
  
 "He had to have been the most offensive comedian I've ever heard. I'm offended, he was _that_ unfunny." She slid her arm through Luke's. "Do I look dumber? Because I feel dumber."  
  
"Can't tell," he said. "Think I might have gone blind from boredom in there." He gently began to maneuver them towards the spot up the hill where they'd parked. "Count that one a bust, then."  
  
 Lorelai leaned against him as they strolled, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Not the date—the date wasn't a bust. City Steam Brewery, a nice choice on your part. The food was good—"  
  
"Beer was good," he chimed in.  
  
 "The six layer chocolate cake was good, too. And the company was very good," she said. "It was just the comedy show that was bad. Did you see the sign in there for 'Take Out Your Town Night?' Two-for-one cover charge for whatever town they pick." She pointed at Luke. "And that is a secret that dies with us, for all the obvious reasons." He grunted in reply. "I think, as a rule, we should stay away from comedians in the greater Hartford area. Seems like a bad idea."  
  
 Luke nodded. "I'm sorry, I just thought, you know, it was something different."  
  
 They'd reached the truck, and Lorelai studied Luke by the light of a street lamp as he unlocked and opened her door. "Different than what?" she asked quietly.  
  
 "Just different than before," he said. "You know, the stuff we used to do."  
  
 Lorelai took his hands in hers, leaned up, and kissed his cheek. "You know, Luke, I don't really care what we did before. I don't care so much what we do _now_." Off his confused look, she conceded, "In the most general sense, I don't care what we do now. I'm happy just to spend time with you, I don't care if we're in matching Barcaloungers with knotty afghans and broken remotes like Edith and Archie. Hell, we could go _bowling_ and wear matching shirts for all I care." She squeezed his hands. "Which is not to say I don't appreciate the effort tonight—I do, I really do. I just don't want to get bogged down in thinking we have to do anything a certain way, you know?"  
  
 His eyes were soft. "I do know," he said. "Thanks for coming out tonight."  
  
 "Thanks for asking," she said.  
  
 Luke dipped his head, kissed her briefly. "No more comedians."  
  
 Lorelai climbed into the truck, laughing. "No, but definitely more six layer chocolate cake!"

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

As Luke pulled the truck into Lorelai's driveway, she was listening to yet another voicemail from her mother. She rolled her eyes for Luke's benefit as he rounded the cab to open the door for her. When she finally hung up, she exhaled shortly in annoyance.  
  
 "Okay, guilty as I am of leaving epic voicemails when the occasion calls for it—"  
  
"The brownie-baking adventure of the other day count as an occasion? 'Cause I seem to remember you leaving a voicemail for Rory that went on the length of an Oliver Stone movie," Luke interrupted.  
  
"I'm telling you, my mother has me beat," Lorelai said. She led the way to the porch, pulling Luke behind her by one hand. "She has undertaken this spa thing like Sisyphus. Except knowing my mother, she'll get it to the top of the hill and send it right down the other side, bowling me over right with it."  
  
 Luke snorted a little. "You're surprised?"  
  
"By Emily? Never, and yet, always," she sighed. "I don't want to think this is a good idea, because it involves working with my mom, but... there's a reason Michel's been talking about spa services for three years, and now she's got me thinking about it, and I can't help but think maybe she had a good idea."  
  
Luke's expression was skeptical and supportive at once, as only Luke's could be. "Well, you'll figure it out," he said. "You usually do."  
  
 "Or fake it," she told him, rolling her eyes ruefully. She paused, one hand on the door. "Do you want to come in for coffee? Or tea, since you don't drink coffee. Except, I probably don't have tea. You could come in for boiling hot water, but I fail to see the appeal in that. I do have the remnants of a really bad batch of brownies, if you'd like."  
  
 "Evidence of you baking?" Luke asked, cocking an eyebrow. "I might have to see that."  
  
 Lorelai turned as if to open the door but stopped herself. She turned to him, her face puckered with worry. "Is this going to be weird? For you, I mean?"  
  
"What?" he asked, puzzled. "You, baking? Yeah, that's weird."  
  
 "No, you coming in after a date. To the house. Is that going to be weird?" she asked. "Because if it's weird, I totally understand that. It won't be weird for me, because I live here, but I don't want it to be weird for you. I don't want you to feel like you have to come in if it's going to be weird."  
  
"It's not going to be weird," he said, his voice low. "It's okay."  
  
"Are you sure? Because I totally understand, and I don't know if maybe we should talk about it being weird..."  
  
 "Honestly, Lorelai," Luke said, "it's weirder standing out here talking about why it'll be weird to go inside than it would be just going inside."  
  
She smiled uncertainly, but unlocked the door and led him inside. Paul Anka, sitting on the landing to the second floor, lifted his head and sniffed the air.  
  
"Hey, Paul Anka," Lorelai cooed. "Luke, I assume you remember Paul Anka," she said formally, gesturing towards the dog with one hand as she closed the door.  
  
"Vividly," he said flatly.  
  
 "Paul Anka," she continued, "you remember Luke."  
  
 Paul Anka's ears perked, and he wagged his tail vigorously as Luke stepped into the living room and took off his coat. Lorelai followed suit, hanging them both on the coat rack in the hall. She babbled a moment about hot water and lemon, wine or beer, really bad brownies. She started towards the kitchen more than once, turning as though she'd forgotten something, and began an awkward dance in the hall as if she was unsure which room to be in or how to stand still. Luke rested a hand heavy on her shoulder and drew her into a tight hug.  
  
 After a moment, she breathed into him, let herself relax against him. "I'm glad you're here," she told him.  
  
 In reply, he only kissed her.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

The morning press gathering was held in a small event room off the lobby of the hotel. Rory had been up hours already, crafting the email due to her editor. She gave it one last perusal, the coffee she'd just purchased from a nearby donut shop held loosely in one hand. Her laptop perched on her knee, she blew lightly into the cardboard cup through the plastic lid, and her breath produced a small whistling noise that made her smile.  
  
 "Someone's after the worm this morning."  
  
 She squinted at Patrick over the edge of her computer screen. He leaned on the windowsill, the midmorning light streaming behind him almost garishly. He pointed at the paper bag of pastries on the seat beside her.  
  
 "Maybe just the good junk food," he said.  
  
 Rory sipped her coffee and shook her head. "A homemade donut is not junk food, I'll have you know. As far as I'm concerned, it's haute cuisine."  
  
He lifted his chin, indicating her computer. "What're you working on?"  
  
"Oh, same old," she smirked. "Trying to craft the perfect 'I had to wonder' pun for my editor in the spirit of Carrie Bradshaw."  
  
 "You're not careful to start showing up on time, Harlan might start aiming puddles at you," Patrick laughed.  
  
 "Better a cold puddle than a hot cup of coffee, maybe," she said. "I'm sorry I spilled all over you yesterday. And also, for the babbling about the hat and everything, that must have sounded really stupid."  
  
 "Don't apologize," he said. "I think I get it."  
  
 She paused to send the email to her editor, her hand shaking just slightly with caffeine and nerves. "I just want to do well�I want to be good at this, and I don't want to feel like everyone else knows how green I am and thinks I'm a loser who can't keep up." She shut the laptop and picked up her breakfast, pinching the edges of the paper bag with fretful fingers. "But I appreciate you being so nice about it."  
  
 He sat down in the empty seat beside her, rifling in his own laptop bag. "I actually have something for you," he said. He handed her a badly folded newspaper hat. "We can have a ceremonial burning of the Hell Night hat, what do you think? I bet I can borrow Harlan's lighter for a few minutes if I can guarantee you'll make the bus on time."  
  
Rory laughed, turning the hat in her hands. "Thanks, but... you know, I don't think I need it. I got over wearing it the first time, I'll get over it again." She looked at him; his eyes were friendly, crinkled at the corners in amusement and confusion. "It does make me feel better that your hat's worse than mine was," she said.  
  
 "Well, whatever gets you through," he chuckled.  
  
"Amen and a donut to that," Rory said. She opened the bag to him, and he sat beside her as he accepted one of the pastries inside.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

Luke was nowhere to be seen when Lorelai reached the diner Friday morning and sat herself immediately at the counter. While she waited, she sipped a cup of coffee and picked at a donut; when her cell phone rang, she cast her eyes around guiltily before answering.  
  
 "Hello?"  
  
 "I was beginning to think you'd stopped answering your phone entirely."  
  
 Lorelai blew a ripple over the surface of her coffee. "Good morning, Mom. I got your messages last night, I was going to call you back."  
  
 "You were?" Emily asked. "Did you actually listen to the messages?"  
  
 "All four of them," she answered brightly. "Yes, I'm coming for dinner; no, I hadn't considered a color scheme yet; yes, I think earth tones are soothing but incredibly overdone; and while I've never given it much thought, it makes sense that most spas would offer their own skincare and bath lines from a business perspective, but I think that's a little outside of our reach."  
  
 Emily narrowed her eyes. "Why are you in such a good mood?"  
  
 "Well, I'm talking to you, Mother, that always puts me in a good mood."  
  
 "Are you on some sort of herbal supplement right now?" Emily demanded. "You are unnaturally pleasant this morning."  
  
"Thanks, Mom," Lorelai said, rolling her eyes. "You know, I was just going to say the same of you. Did you want to talk to me at all or were you just calling to harass me out of my unnatural pleasantness?"  
  
 "You are coming to dinner tonight, then," Emily confirmed. "Good, because there are some things I really wanted to discuss with you about this spa that I went to—"  
  
Lorelai kicked the toes of her boots against the counter as she listened, waiting for her turn to speak. The curtain to the right fluttered, and Luke stepped out, still fiddling with the cuffs of his flannel. She grinned and immediately turned her back to him, hiding the cell phone behind her hair.  
  
"Sorry, Mom, I have to go, there's no cell phones allowed here. I'll talk to you tonight at dinner, okay? We'll make plans then."  
  
"But, Lorelai—"  
  
"Bye, Mom!" She snapped the phone shut in her hand, and when she turned back to the counter, Luke was standing before her with his arms crossed over his chest and a knowing look on his face. "What?" she asked, affecting nonchalance.  
  
He rolled his eyes as he walked away. "You're not fooling anyone," he said, but he squeezed her shoulder as he walked past.  
  
Zach refilled Lorelai's coffee cup. "You guys are about this close to being a Disney special," he told her.  
  
She gave him the stink eye. "My Little Pony, Disney specials... Zach, just how many cousins do you have?"

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

Zach waited until Lorelai had left to approach Luke again. His boss was running through receipts at the counter, but smiling. Taking the rarity it was for a good sign, Zach stood beside Luke and waited, nodding as though they were already deep in conversation.  
  
"I'm not hiring your cousin, Zach," Luke said. "Brennan's lost me business before."  
  
Zach ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, I know, man. I just told his mom I'd put in a word for him. I was really hoping maybe you could hire Brian—he just got laid off from his job at the real estate office, and I know it would help Lane out a lot to have him close by, help with the boys and all."  
  
"Brian?" Luke echoed. He thought on it a moment. "I guess, yeah. If he can stop tripping over his feet long enough."  
  
"He'll work it out," Zach assured him. "And listen, Luke, if it's not asking too much..."  
  
Luke sighed, but looked up at Zach with a tired, wary expression. "I told you I'd keep you guys covered under the health plan as long as Lane plans on coming back, Zach, don't worry about it."  
  
"I know, and we appreciate it," Zach said quickly. "I just wanted to ask you if you could keep an eye on Lane for me while I'm gone. You know, check in on her now and then. She won't say she's overwhelmed, but I know she is, and I think just someone offering a hand every once in a while would make her feel better. She'll never take it, but just having someone ask, I know it'd make her feel better. It'd make me feel better."  
  
Luke softened. "No problem at all."  
  
"Thanks, boss."

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫ 

Lorelai shut the jeep door with her hip and shouldered her purse. "Rory, I cannot overstate how impressed you should be when a man voluntarily brings you breakfast."  
  
"Mom, stop!" Rory hissed. "It's not like that, okay? I don't need anything more complicated in my life right now than a friend. And at least he knows how weird it is being the new girl."  
  
"The new girl, huh? I'm glad he can share that experience with you," Lorelai said dryly. "Listen, I'm about to go in for dinner, I'll call you later tonight?"  
  
"Say hi to Grandma and Grandpa for me."  
  
Lorelai rang the bell and smiled at the maid who took her coat. She took the martini her father had ready with thanks, and when she sat herself on the chaise with Rory's greetings and a declaration that the kid sounded good, her parents rolled their eyes at each other and stared.  
  
"What?" she asked. "I can't be in a good mood?  
  
Emily pursed her lips. "Something is different in your life and we are not leaving this room until you tell us what it is."  
  
Lorelai gaped a moment. "I don't know what you're talking about!"  
  
 "You've been dodging my calls all week—"  
  
"Mom, come on, you can't say _that's_ new."  
  
"—saying that you're too busy, you have too much going on in your life right now to even discuss the business proposition your mother has so thoroughly laid out and is _waiting_ to share with you, you're so happy right now you're practically a cartoon character—we're not stupid, Lorelai, we know something's happened," Emily finished. "We'd just like you to tell us what it is."  
  
Caught, Lorelai flushed and darted her eyes between her father and mother before she set her martini down and gathered herself together. "Well, since you insist—Luke and I are... we're seeing each other again." She took a deep breath. "Luke and I are back together."  
  
 Richard got up to refresh his water glass, and Emily patted her hair absently. "Is that all?" she asked. "We figured that out days ago, Lorelai. We'd rather hoped you'd taken up some kind of sport."  
  
Lorelai furrowed her brow in confusion. "You knew? How did you know? Why are you so blasé about this?"  
  
"Oh, Lorelai," Richard said, shaking his head. "It was obviously bound to happen, given your history together. We've accepted this would come sooner or later."  
  
"I'm surprised it's sooner," Emily muttered.  
  
"Hey!" Lorelai cried.  
  
"So _this_ is what's keeping you from discussing the spa?"  
  
Lorelai fidgeted. "No, I just... are you sure you really want to go into business with us, Mom? Doesn't it seem like a lot of work? What if it doesn't work?"  
  
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Lorelai," Emily said firmly. "If that's all that's stopping you, you're more ridiculous than I thought."  
  
"Aren't you—" She stopped herself, sought the most diplomatic way to phrase her thoughts. "We might butt heads, Mom."  
  
Emily rose and began to make her way towards the dining room. "I expect we will, Lorelai, but if you don't immediately always assume I'm wrong..."  
  
"I could say the same to you," Lorelai said, trailing behind her.  
  
"—then things will likely go... well, not smoothly, but we can manage." She pointed to Lorelai's chair. "Now, if you're agreed, we'll discuss this at a later point. The dinner table is no place to discuss business."  
  
Lorelai stood, her hand on her chair, and screwed up what courage she could. "I guess we're agreed."  
  
"Good. We'll talk about it first thing Monday morning." Emily placed her napkin in her lap. "Now, tell me what's new with you and Luke."  
  
Lorelai pressed her hand to her forehead and took a gulp of the wine her father had just poured. "Oh, Lord."  
 

_To be continued..._


	3. Episode 8.03 "Whoa, Nellie!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Episode 8:03 written by Avery**
> 
> A visit from April leads to tension between Luke and Lorelai, Sookie and Michel come to blows at the inn, and Emily and Richard vent to Lorelai about their lack of contact from Rory. But their granddaughter has other things on her mind -- like an unhappy editor, an unfriendly colleague, and an unexpected twist in a new friendship. Whoa, Nellie!
> 
> The Gilmore Girls Virtual Seasons: It's not over 'til we say it is!
> 
> Episode originally published October 9th, 2007.

 

Author's Note: This episode never could have come to fruition without the help and enthusiasm of so many people, from story conception to punctuation editing. For everything in between, I am indebted to my stellar beta/lead writer team of **sosmitten** and **lulabo** , who provided the absurd amount of codependent support that kept this thing going.

 

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Rory balanced the phone between her ear and her shoulder and leaned forward to brush her big toenail with bright green nail polish. 

"Does it have sparkles in it?" her mother asked.

"No."

"And is it sea foam, or, like, full-on chartreuse?"

"What's with the third degree?" Rory demanded.

"Nothing! It's just fascinating. You usually pick colors that don't even look like colors... like that one we had to go out and buy because it was your favorite. It was practically transparent."

"It was light pink!"

"I believe the hue was called 'Rory Gilmore's Toenail.'"

Rory sighed heavily. "Don't we have anything to discuss besides nail polish?"

"It's just _such_ a bold choice."

"That's the point. I wear closed-toed shoes all day, and then when I take them off at night, I don't know, I like it. The little surprise of having lime green toes. It's kind of a rush."

"Aw, honey..." Lorelai said, and Rory could hear the sympathetic tone in her mother's voice that was only ever there when she had made a particularly lame admission. "You're getting your thrills from cosmetic products? Aren't there bars or, like, billiard rooms in Middle America? Or moonshine, at least. I _know_ there's moonshine."

Rory snorted and smudged her tiny canvas. "When you picture me on the road, am I mostly surrounded by turn-of-the-century farmhands in patched overalls?"

"There's also the occasional drugstore counter employee who is mixing you up a nice strawberry soda and refusing to let you pay for it."

"Ah, well, JoJo at Woolworth's sure _is_ a gentleman." 

"Okay, no more feeding my delusions. Tell me something about your life that does not have to do with nail polish. I want the dish on your young Bob Woodward."

"Woodward?"

"Well, he was much cuter than Bernstein."

"Only in your head, and only because Robert Redford played him."

"Regardless, the name 'Woodward' is more fun to say. So, any new developments there?"

Rory tensed. The banter had been familiar and fun and, if she was honest, a welcome distraction from things she'd rather not think about, much less discuss. She shrugged her shoulders as though her mother could see. 

"No developments. He's still cute, and we're still friendly and flirty, and I'm still kind of disgusted with myself because I've only been single for, like, five minutes..." 

She trailed off because she wasn't sure what else there was to say. The fact of her break-up with Logan still took Rory by surprise sometimes, even though it had been several months since they'd last seen each other. Whenever she heard something that would have made him laugh, her instinct was still to smile and file it away for him. Lately, she had been wondering when instincts like that finally fade away. 

"Anyway, I just don't think the timing's right," she finished quickly.

"Hey, there's no harm in a rebound."

"Says the woman who accidentally eloped with hers."

"Ouch. All right, you may have a point."

"Sorry. Too soon?" Rory asked, wincing a little. 

"Nah, it's okay. Ancient history."

"Okay, your turn," Rory said, eager to change the subject. "What are the goings-on back in the love nest formerly known as Stars Hollow? Things still disgusting?"

Her mom made a humming, pondering kind of noise. 

"Still moderately disgusting. We've been braving Al's Pancake World a lot, lately. Luke claims no two entrees are alike, so we've been ordering the same meals for dinner for the past five nights to see if we can disprove it. So far, the thesis holds."

"And you were judging me for my nail polish thrills," said Rory.

"Well, April's visiting this weekend, before school starts back up."

"School!" Rory said wistfully. "It's so weird that it's almost September and I don't get to go shopping for pens and notebooks and stuff."

"I'm sure Stars Hollow Stationary is going to go belly-up as a result," her mother teased.

"Hilarious," Rory said dryly. "So, April's coming? That should be fun."

"Yeah, it should... shake things up."

Rory noted the slight trepidation in her mother's voice and sat up straighter, capping the nail polish and turning her full attention back to the conversation. 

"What do you mean, shake things up?" she asked, concern edging on suspicion. 

"Well, I don't know, things have been really good lately - disgustingly good, as you put it - and even though we've sort of talked through the April issues of yore, it's going to be interesting to see it play out."

Rory groaned with disdain. "Just look at us, creating boy drama where there is none. When did we become those girls? Between the two of us, I don't remember the last time we didn't have relationship issues to discuss."

"It's kind of pathetic," her mother agreed. "We are strong, independent career women! No more talk about boys or pedicures. Tell me, how is your _career_ , career woman?"

Rory grasped for something new or exciting or, at the very least, something _positive_ to share about her job, but she came up with zero. 

"You know, Obama talks. People ask questions. I take notes."

"Nice story, journalist."

"How's the Inn?"

"Well, guests show up. I cater to their whims. Then they leave."

"Fascinating."

"At least mine had whims, which is only one letter off from whimsy."

"Considering we have nothing of substance to share with each other, should we hang up now before we have to hand in our Independent Career Woman badges?"

"I think that would be wise," her mother agreed.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

Tucked into a booth at a diner off the interstate, Rory surveyed the tables around her and pursed her lips in concentration. It was her turn to choose, and she had to do so carefully. 

Finally, she pointed her index finger discreetly at a man and a woman across the room. Patrick followed her eyes, and she watched as his widened and sparkled. His irises were each hugged by a smoky gray ring. She had never seen anything like it before. 

"You were right. You really can pick 'em," he told her, still focused intently on their new unwitting victims. The man, who had the most painful-looking hair plugs that Rory had ever seen outside an episode of _Arrested Development_ , had ordered the seafood platter. It took up over half the table. His companion, a woman in a red sequined halter top and denim cutoffs, was eating what appeared to be a triple-decker peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crusts removed.

"Go," Rory challenged.

Patrick cleared his throat and turned his attention back to Rory. 

"And like I told you at breakfast, there's nothin' in this whole world like shellfish. I would eat shellfish morning, noon, and night. I would eat shellfish in my sleep, if it was physiologically possible. In fact, we're not leaving here until every single piece of shellfish in this plastic basket has been consumed, by me. No shell shall be left unturned."

Rory concentrated as hard as she could on not laughing, which was difficult, since Patrick's impersonation had caused his voice to come out sounding both deeper and thinner at the same time. She twisted her napkin in her lap and set about trying to outdo him.

"You want to know the only thing better than a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?" she began, in a singsong voice. "Two of them, smushed together on a plate. Peanut butter is like glue, but, only, like, edible. It's like that stuff they use to hold bricks together, you know, only... you can eat it and it smells fan-freaking-tastic. Maybe I should consider spreading some on my chest so that my blindingly gorgeous evening wear stops gapping out in this awkward fashion."

"No, no, that's what we in the industry call the money shot, darling."

"The industry?"

"Of course, I'm an art photographer. I do tasteful nudes. Literally! Ba-dum-bum. Have a clam."

"Your drumbeat sound effect is uncanny, but I couldn't possibly pilfer from your basket of glory. You need your protein. Your scalp seems to be reacting quite strangely to the acupuncture session you had this afternoon."

"Well, you know what they say. Trust a doctor to stick pins in your head... and you're... you might as well just... you're a real.... you know, what they say..." he trailed off, dissolving into laughter. He held up both hands in surrender, and Rory jabbed her index finger in the air at him, wild with triumph.

"You got me that time," he acquiesced. 

She poked at a cold French fry with her fork, grinning. "I can't believe you dropped the ball on what could have been the best acupuncture/pinhead joke that LuAnn's Eats and Sweets had ever born witness to."

"What can I say. I caved under the pressure," he said. "Hey, are you done? Looks like the rest of our group cleared out a while ago."

Rory looked to the back corner of the restaurant, where four or five other reporters had been eating.

"What if the bus leaves without us?" Rory asked, alarmed before she could even think to play it cool. They were en route to Council Bluffs, Iowa, and the last thing Rory wanted was to be stranded on the side of Route 70. Besides, she'd been late more times than she could count, and Harlan had it out for her.

"You know," Patrick teased, "I can now say that I've met second grade Rory Gilmore. You know, the one who got left behind at the aquarium or the Museum of Natural History? Come on, it must have happened. There's no other explanation for this obsessive bus paranoia of yours. It's only getting worse, too."

She threw a ten-dollar bill down on the table and glared at him. "That just cost you the window seat."

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

In April's corner of the apartment, Lorelai tucked in one side of a lavender bed sheet and then stopped to watch Luke try to cram a pillow into a floral pillowcase. She smiled at the struggle.

"You're doing that all wrong," she finally said. 

"I think the pillowcase shrunk in the dryer."

"Give it to me," she instructed. He handed it to her and looked on in amazement as she expertly shimmied the pillow into the case.

"How did you do that?" he asked. "And why did you let me try to beat it into submission for five minutes?"

"I used to do this about six hundred times a day," she reminded him. "And as for the sitting-back-and-watching-you-suffer thing, what can I say? You look cute when you're frustrated, and even cuter when you're holding a pillowcase that's covered in little pink flowers."

He shot her a look of mock-annoyance, one she knew by heart: jaw set, eyebrows lowered, chin dipped just so. She leaned over the bed and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth until she felt it relax into a smile. She handed him one corner of the comforter and together they spread it over the bed.

"If her flight gets in at seven, what time should I leave here?" he asked.

"Probably four-thirty, to be safe. Rush hour traffic," she reminded him.

"Right. Four-thirty. Maybe four o'clock, though, because you can never tell how jammed the terminal's gonna be, or what the parking situation is gonna look like. Maybe even three, you know, I don't want her to have to wait."

She tried to suppress a smile at his rambling, because she knew he would rather die than know how adorable she found his excitement. 

"I bought tons of that sweet microwave popcorn, because it was her new favorite last time she was here. I hope she still likes it because I think it's disgusting. Do you like it?"

"Kettle corn?" Lorelai asked. "It's okay. I prefer my popcorn salty."

"And smothered in butter," he added. 

"And smothered in butter," she confirmed, missing the sarcasm entirely.

He tugged at a corner of the comforter until it straightened to his satisfaction. 

"I figured I'd wait to do the rest of my grocery shopping until she gets here, because who knows what she likes now." Luke shook his head incredulously as they walked across the apartment, from April's bed to his own.

"You wouldn't believe how fast she changes her mind about stuff," he continued. "I mean, one day she's obsessed with this girl Becky. Everything is Becky this, Becky that. And the next day- the _next day_ , I'm not just using an expression- they're mortal enemies."

Lorelai nodded knowingly. "Girls," she said, as though the one word was explanation enough. Luke pulled down the covers on her side of the bed, the equivalent of opening her car door.

"Thank you, sir," she said, hopping in. She smiled as he smoothed the hair back on her forehead and kissed her right on the nose and then on both cheeks. He was in an exceptionally good mood, and her spirits were rising a little, too. They had just had an entire conversation about April without any of his old habits creeping up, without that knot in her stomach rematerializing. Maybe Rory was right -- she was just looking for trouble where there was none. 

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

Rory sat on the bed in her motel room typing furiously, her fingers attacking the keyboard with unusual fervor. Unfortunately, she was writing the same word over and over again. An entire paragraph, a good few inches of screen, covered with the word _choice_. It was the last thing she'd written before she got stuck twenty minutes earlier. She stopped typing and sighed. _Choice choice choice choice choice_. Bring on that Pulitzer, she thought.

When her cell phone rang, she was so anxious for a distraction that she answered without even checking the caller ID. A few moments past the pleasantries, and she wished she had let it go to voicemail. 

"We could go through it line by line, but I'm not sure how productive that would be at this point," Michael was saying. "I think this is a tear-down."

"A tear-down?" Rory asked, hating the way her voice sounded: small and too high, like a child asking to come out of a time-out.

"It's just..." Michael trailed off. "Honestly, Rory, I feel like the pendulum has just swung too far in the opposite direction from where you were before. A few weeks ago, I told you your notes were too informal, your writing too colloquial, but now... I'm looking at ten printed pages here. Ten pages that say... well, I don't know what they say. I don't know if they say anything at all."

"Oh," Rory said, and as soon as the non-word left her mouth, she wished she could bite it back in.

"It doesn't even sound like you," he continued. "It doesn't sound like anyone, really. No one writes this way. No one writes this way because no one _talks_ this way."

"What way?" she asked, grasping for something constructive to take from the criticism.

"Mannered and cautious. Stiff," Michael said, without even having to think about it.

"Oh," she said again. She stared miserably at the text glowing on the screen in front of her before highlighting it all. She hit the delete key, and watched it blink away. 

"Have another crack at it, okay? I want a new draft by the end of the day."

"Yes. Okay. Yes, a new draft. Absolutely."

"And Rory?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop sounding as though you're about to lose your job. You aren't."

"Okay," she said.

"Okay." 

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

It was eight-thirty when Lorelai finished showering and dressing and bounded downstairs, ready for the largest stack of pancakes Luke could manage to assemble.

"You do know that pancakes are governed by the laws of physics, right?" he asked her after she verbalized her request.

"Not _your_ pancakes," she said, smiling beatifically. 

"You're a food flirt," he accused, giving her a brief good-morning kiss when he was sure no one was watching.

" _Your_ pancakes are feats of culinary genius, miracles of engineering. _Your_ pancakes are truly the only reason I am not still in bed right now."

"Well, that's a back-handed compliment," he told her. 

She rolled her eyes teasingly. "That, and your prettiness, of course," she said, playfully indulgent. "If it was between you and an insanely tall stack of pancakes, I would choose you."

"Well, thanks," he said dryly.

"And then I'd ask you to make me some pancakes," she finished.

"I'll get right on that," he said. 

He started toward the kitchen, but stopped and turned back to her with an apprehensive look on his face. She noticed, and tilted her head to the side in a silent question.

"So, listen," he began. "I was thinking, you know, about April coming..."

Lorelai felt her whole body tense. "Okay..." 

"What?" he asked.

"What, what?" she demanded impatiently.

"You look... squinchy."

She shook her head and closed her eyes briefly. "Can you just say what you want to say?" she asked, surprising even herself with the sharpness of her voice.

He took a step back from her. " _What_ is your problem?"

"I don't know," she said. "But apparently there is one, so why don't you just tell me what it is?"

He threw the rag he was holding down on the counter and glared at her. "Well, that's great. You're just going to jump there, huh? I thought 'starting over' meant a clean slate. I didn't realize I was going to be on the defensive all the time while you held your breath and waited for me to screw up."

"That's not fair," she said, raising her voice.

"You're right," he agreed, "It's _not_ fair."

They regarded each other silently for a few minutes, suddenly acutely aware that the diner was full, and they were about one octave away from having a captive audience.

"Maybe we should talk about this later," Luke said evenly, his teeth gritted.

Lorelai grabbed her purse and stood up. "I guess you won't blame me if I don't take your word for it," she snapped, before stalking out of the diner and into a morning that was far too sunny for her mood.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

After a walk to try and clear her head, Rory returned to the motel lobby and made a beeline for the coffee carafe that was set up on a sideboard table. She took the first too-hot and crappy-tasting sip and noticed Meredith Newbury sitting in one of the green upholstered chairs, tapping her manicured fingernail against the armrest. She wasn't reading or writing or otherwise engaged, so Rory plastered on a friendly smile and approached her.

"Hey," she said brightly, taking the seat next to Meredith.

"Hi," Meredith said, shooting her the briefest of smiles. 

"Waiting for a call?" Rory asked. She pointed to the phone in Meredith's hand.

"What? Oh. Yeah. My boyfriend. We were supposed to talk at eleven, but he had a meeting," she said, rolling her eyes. 

"What does he do?"

"He's in imports and exports."

Rory nodded, but really had no idea what that meant. It sounded nefarious, the kind of businesses that mafia bosses used to conceal their illegal enterprises. She had seen _The Godfather_ way too many times, she reflected.

"You must miss him a lot," Rory said, grasping for something to keep the conversation moving.

Meredith shrugged and laughed, tinny and hollow. "I guess. When we're together he's all possessive and jealous, and when we're apart, I am. But hey, that's love, right?" 

It wasn't really a question, and Rory was glad, because if it had been, she wasn't sure how she'd have answered it. 

"It's hard, though, isn't it? Being away like this?" Rory asked.

Meredith turned to face her. "What do you mean?" 

Rory looked at the woman's cashmere sweater set and pearl studs, at her perfectly highlighted hair and four hundred dollar shoes, and she let herself believe, for a minute, that it was all a front. That this was a girl who needed a friend, just like she did.

"Don't you just wish you could have lunch with your mom, sometimes?" Rory asked. "Don't you just wish you could see your friends and sleep in your own bed?"

Meredith's eyes hardened and flicked over Rory from head to toe. Rory held her breath and waited, feeling completely vulnerable, like she'd just sliced herself open for a complete stranger. It was an entirely disproportionate response, but she couldn't help it. She felt like she was being studied by a cool, disengaged scientist in a lab.

"Your mommy and your baby blanket will still be there when you get back," Meredith condescended.

"That's not what I meant," Rory insisted, feeling her face flush.

"Man, you really weren't ready for this," Meredith decided, standing up. She grabbed her Chanel bag from its resting place on the floor and gave Rory one last disgusted look before click-clacking her way to the elevator.

"Well, that went swimmingly," Rory muttered to herself. She felt the impulse to call Lane or her mother and quickly drowned it with another paper cup full of abysmal coffee before trudging upstairs to tackle her second draft. 

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

Lorelai sifted through the mail at the reception desk as Michel stormed up to her, all pointy hair and melodrama.

"Lorelai, Sookie has absolutely ruined the entire infrastructure of this business," he declared. She sighed and put the mail down.

"You'll have to be more specific, Michel."

"She has scheduled her insipid cookie decorating class at the same time as my scrapbook workshop! The guests will be forced to choose between the activities, and since Americans will do literally anything for a cookie, all the meticulous planning I put into my craft hour will be wasted." 

"A meticulously planned craft hour?" she repeated.

"Lorelai!" he whined, stamping his Italian leather clad foot. 

"Okay, Michel? You can't _stamp_ your _foot_ at work. A _modicum_ of professionalism would be nice."

"You are wearing a t-shirt with a silver unicorn on it, and talking to me about professionalism" he droned.

"If I say I'll talk to Sookie, will you promise not to come near me for at least an hour?" she asked irritably.

"With pleasure," he said.

She headed to the kitchen and plastered on a fake smile. 

"Sook? Can we talk?"

Sookie was up to her elbows in crepe fillings, and shook her head violently.

"Not if it has anything to do with my cookie class. I had it in the book weeks ago, and I'm not canceling it!"

"Nobody's asking you to cancel it," Lorelai said, with as much patience as she could muster. She swiped a handful of blueberries from the earthenware bowl on the counter. "Just reschedule it."

"Absolutely not. My class has perishable ingredients that have already been ordered. Michel's has glitter and glue sticks and elbow macaroni. I'm not switching."

Lorelai rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. "You know what? I don't care. Let the guests choose between cookies and scrapbooking, or else figure it out yourselves."

"Hey," Sookie called after her as Lorelai turned to leave. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing," Lorelai sighed. "Just a crappy morning. I had a thing with Luke."

Sookie dropped the spoon she was holding in the sink and sat on a nearby stool, massaging her swelling ankles. 

"A thing?" she asked. 

"A spat," Lorelai clarified. She took a few more blueberries and popped them into her mouth one at a time.

"About?"

"April? Maybe? It happened kinda fast. He started to say something about needing to talk about her visit, and I don't know, I just kind of freaked out on him."

"So you don't know what he was going to say?"

"Not officially, but I doubt it was 'Hey, when April gets here let's all link arms and sing campfire songs.'"

"Well, no, because that would be creepy," Sookie pointed out. 

"It was just the same thing all over again, you know? The same start to the same one-sided conversation we had about her last year, and he had that same nervous face and he sounded like he was about to apologize for something and I'm sorry, but I did _not_ sign on for that again. No way."

"Whoa, Nellie!" Sookie exclaimed. "Step back for a second. Things are totally different now, right?"

Lorelai crossed her arms. "Well, we've said they are, anyway." 

"Oh, honey," Sookie said. "Don't you trust that things have changed?"

"That's the worst part, because I do. I really do," Lorelai admitted.

"Then you need to start acting like it," Sookie said sternly, in the kind of voice that would be completely annoying coming from a parent, but was oddly reassuring coming from a best friend. "You need to start expecting that things are going to work out the way you want them to."

Lorelai groaned. "You're not going to make me watch _The Secret_ with you again, are you?"

"Jackson threw it out," Sookie lamented. "Believe me, if it was still in my possession, I'd use it to threaten you into getting Michel off my back."

"Forget it, Sook," Lorelai said, shaking her head. "He's completely wigging out and there's no way I'm talking to him about this. And is it just me, or does his accent get thicker when he feels affronted?"

"Definitely thicker," Sookie agreed. She grabbed the bowl she had been previously stirring and poured it into a large frying pan. "Maybe I'll just pretend I can't understand him."

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

Lorelai rang the doorbell at her parents' house with even less enthusiasm than usual. She had worked late and changed clothes in her office, she was bone tired, and she had spent most of the day deciding what she wanted to say to Luke, only for his phone to go straight to voicemail.

After shrugging out of her coat and joining her mother and father in the living room, she settled back against the settee with a perfectly chilled martini. She sipped it and answered her father's perfunctory questions about business, all the while aware of the strange, flustered vibe her mother was managing to send out while remaining perfectly and disturbingly still.

"Lorelai, what have you heard from Rory?" Emily asked, as soon as there was a lull in the conversation.

"Oh, she's still doing great. Making some friends, getting into the swing of things. She sounds good."

"Well, we certainly wouldn't know," Emily huffed. 

"Emily..." Richard said warningly.

Lorelai took a long swallow of her drink before resigning herself to the question that her mother was expecting. 

"What does that mean, Mother?"

"Well, the girl has called us _once_! Just to let us know she was safe, when she first arrived in Iowa. That was _weeks_ ago."

 

"Well, Mom, you know, she's very busy," Lorelai defended. "She has a real job, with very rigorous demands, and an editor and a schedule and a... bus that always leaves right on time."

"A punctual bus driver?" Emily asked. "That's your excuse?"

" _My_ excuse?" 

"I think you know what your mother meant, Lorelai," Richard interjected.

Lorelai took a deep breath. "Look, guys, I'm really sorry, on Rory's behalf, that you're feeling out of the loop. But it's not like she's just away at school. She's working, she has a real, hectic, important job. It's what we all wanted for her. Right?"

Emily grunted, Richard harrumphed, and Lorelai stood to refresh her drink.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

For dinner, a small group of the press corps decided to dine as a pack in the first restaurant they stumbled across, which happened to be a family-owned Italian place. Rory had almost skipped out on it, but it was nice, sitting with a lot of people around a red and white checked tablecloth. It was nice to drown in the company of near-friends, of near-strangers, of people who looked at her without noticing that her smile wasn't quite reaching her eyes. Alone, but surrounded. She almost liked it. Everyone was trying to talk louder than the person next to them, like competing siblings around a kitchen table. The sounds and smells were comforting, but Rory's head was elsewhere. She twirled spaghetti around her fork into a fat beehive and half-listened to the story Rachael was telling about her disastrous honeymoon in Antigua. 

When the check came, she realized she had barely spoken a single word since they sat down. Patrick caught her gaze across the table and gave her a mock-stern look, gesturing for her to hang back from the group as they made their way out of the restaurant. 

"What's up with the Marcel Marceau act?"

"Just tired, maybe," she offered weakly.

He looked at her pointedly, not buying it, and with the almost imperceptible raise of his eyebrow, Rory was forced to admit that at least one person in this strange new life of hers could read her moods and cut through her bullshit.

"I talked to my editor this morning," Rory admitted. 

"And I'm guessing from the Bambi eyes that it was less than awesome?"

She gave a humorless laugh. "Definitely less than awesome." 

"I see," he said, with neither pity nor sympathy, but something closer to understanding. When they walked out the door into the cool night air, he took her elbow and pushed her in the opposite direction of the motel. 

"I know just what you need," he said with a wink. She ignored the annoying little flip in her stomach and let him lead the way, smiling in spite of herself.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

"I just don't think it would kill her to pick up the phone," Emily said. 

Her parents had been unbelievably one-note about Rory's correspondence failings all evening. The dinner plates had been cleared ages ago, and Lorelai was beginning to think that she might stab herself in the hand with a fork if 

"Hey, want to talk about spa stuff?" she asked desperately. 

"Don't try to change the subject," Emily said. 

"Color schemes?" she enticed. "Advertising slogans? Seaweed wraps? That thing where they put hot stones all over your body?"

"You've been infuriatingly hesitant about this project all summer, Lorelai Gilmore, so don't think for a minute that you can use it to distract me from the issue at hand."

Lorelai slumped in her seat.

"Mom. I will talk to Rory, I will ask her to call you. Okay?"

"Please, don't do us any favors," Emily said, her voice both injured and sarcastic.

Lorelai inhaled through her teeth and shook her head. "Why don't _you_ just call _her_ , if you want to talk to her?" she asked. 

"We wouldn't want to be a bother," Emily sniffed. "She's apparently quite busy, as you've made abundantly clear."

"It's more than wanting to speak to the girl, although of course I do," Richard added. "I just find it odd that she hasn't been in touch. Are you quite certain she's doing all right?"

"Yes, Dad, she's doing fine, I promise. She's getting used to the road thing, really. And she's making friends, I told you that before."

"No, Lorelai, I mean are you quite sure... well, are you sure she's doing all right, _professionally_?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"It's just... if I know Rory, one possible explanation for her reticence is that perhaps the work is more challenging than she cares to admit."

Emily nodded her agreement, but Lorelai sat up straighter in her chair and shook her head vigorously.

"No, Dad, come on. It's _Rory_. Everything she touches turns to gold, remember? Besides, she'd never be afraid of your judgment- she knows you reserve that for me," she said offhandedly.

"Lorelai, was that _really_ necessary?" Emily sighed.

"Sorry. Old reflex."

Lorelai looked longingly toward the kitchen, hoping to draw dessert to the table by sheer willpower. Just as she was about to make a last-ditch effort to change the subject once and for all, her cell phone began to vibrate in her pocket. She checked the caller ID and saw that it was Luke.

"Lorelai, how many times have I asked you to leave that contraption in your purse?"

"Sorry, Mom, but I really need to take this. Excuse me for just a minute."

She got up before her request could be granted or denied and hurried to her father's study.

"Hey," she said, answering the call right before it went over to voicemail.

"Hey. I didn't interrupt dinner, did I?"

"Kind of, and thank you. Dinner's been over for what feels like days, but dessert is taking forever. Must be another souffle."

"Aw, geez," he apologized. "You shouldn't have left the table. They're gonna hold that against me."

"I didn't tell them who it was," she assured him. "Are you back in Stars Hollow?"

"No, April's flight was delayed, that's why I'm calling." He paused. "I know we're kinda mid-fight and everything, but I was wondering if you'd want to swing by the airport after you leave your parents'."

"Aw, are you bored? Haven't you found the frozen yogurt kiosk yet?" she asked.

"Just eat the souffle fast and come?" 

"I'll do you one better, and see if I can skip the souffle."

"I don't want you leaving early if you're going to get in trouble," he protested.

"I won't 'get in trouble,'" Lorelai said. "What are they going to do, send me to my room?"

"Are you sure?"

"I think I can be there in twenty minutes. Until then, go peruse the magazine rack, okay? Catch up on your US Weeklies."

She returned to the dining room, mentally preparing her plea to be excused from dessert. It had to be polite, but without room for argument; vague, but not suspiciously so.

"Is it an emergency?" Emily asked.

"No, no, nothing like that. Luke's just at the airport and he asked me to come meet him."

"Is he going somewhere?" Richard asked, obviously intrigued at the thought of a man like Luke needing to travel anywhere, for any reason.

"No, his daughter's flying in tonight."

With that, her parents raised their eyebrows at each other, causing Lorelai to wonder if they practiced stuff like that on the nights they ate alone. 

"And he wants you there to greet her?" Emily asked. She sounded slightly impressed, and Lorelai nodded, trying to keep her smile at bay.

"I guess so," she said.

"Well, then, I guess you should go," Emily graciously relented.

"Thanks, guys," said Lorelai. "And I'll talk to Rory," she added quickly, and then slipped out of the room before Emily could change her mind.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

"I love beer in Council Bluffs," Rory declared. 

"You love dollar draft night," Patrick corrected. "And I'm pretty sure that Council Bluffs doesn't have a monopoly on those. Didn't you just graduate from college? How are you so ill-informed when it comes to cheap boozing rituals?"

"I love jukeboxes in Council Bluffs," Rory said, skirting the question and jabbing at different buttons on the broken machine. 

"Well you're easy to please, then, as long as you stay right here."

"Ah, but I can't. I have to go to other cities and write other crappy articles. The crappy-article-reading public is anxiously awaiting my next stiffly written, uninformative piece of green reporting."

"Someone's sipping from the pity punch," Patrick teased, grabbing her beer bottle and staring down its neck to inspect the contents.

"Sorry," she sighed. "Long day."

"He did a number on you, huh?"

"Why don't I write the way I talk?" she asked. 

"Well, if you wrote the way you're talking right now, you'd be penning lyric poems about Council Bluffs and itscheap beer and broken jukeboxes."

"And would people rather read that?"

"I think I would, yes," Patrick said, pretending to think it over.

She smiled and gave herself permission to laugh the slightest bit. "You make me feel better without even trying to," she told him.

"Who says I'm not trying?" he asked. He flagged the bartender and ordered them another round.

"Why isn't this hard for anybody else?" she wondered, rolling the rim of the bottle against her bottom lip. He shrugged off her question and looked at her, hard.

"You're asking the wrong question. You should be asking why it's hard for _you_ , not why it isn't hard for anyone else."

"I don't know why it's hard for me. I didn't think it would be. I thought it'd be tough starting out, saying goodbye to my mom and my friends and my life, but I knew for sure that once I got out here I'd just be doing what I was supposed to be doing. I'd be sort of... catching up to myself. Finally catching up to something, after all these years of running towards it."

Patrick played with the label on his beer and studied her. "But it's different and it's hard."

"Yeah," she said emphatically. "It's different. And it's hard."

"Because you had unrealistic expectations of yourself."

The way he said it made her back straighten, the easy tone, the familiarity with which he tossed the assessment out, as though there wasn't a chance in hell he could be wrong. It put her on the defensive.

"I don't know about that," she countered.

"I do."

"You don't know everything about me," she said, and to her disbelief, he had the audacity to disagree.

"Sure I do. Grew up in a small town where people hug each other and leave their front doors unlocked, water their neighbors' plants without being asked to and stuff like that. Your mom raised you alone, so you didn't have much money growing up, but maybe you came into it later, or there was money somewhere else in your family, because there are some definite traces of blue running through those veins of yours. She had you young, your mother, _really_ young. Your dad was in and out of the picture, mostly out of it. You'll probably never really forgive him for that, but if you ever do, it will only be because it turned out she was all you needed. You still adore her, miss her almost all the time not because you aren't ready to be on your own, but because you're used to her taking up more space in her life." 

He paused briefly for a breath and a gulp of beer, and then continued. "You went to prep school, on scholarship, maybe, and graduated at the top of your class. You were on the newspaper there, or maybe the yearbook staff, and you were a star. You've never kicked a soccer ball in your life. You were reading Tolstoy before your wisdom teeth came in, even though you barely understood a word, and when you read it again in college you probably decided that you liked it better the first time," he said. At that, she tried hard not to smile.

"You dated seriously during your Ivy education, because you don't know how to date any other way. He was a pretty boy with a crazy trust fund. College ended and you stopped making sense together."

That was a freebie, because Logan's name had come up in conversation more than once between the two of them over the past several weeks. She considered telling Patrick that she'd be taking points off, but he was already talking again.

"You scored a job in journalism through connections, but it was a job that you honestly deserved. Now, you're in the middle of nowhere drinking dollar beers and getting more pissed off at me with every right guess. Correct me if I missed anything." 

She felt heavy and light at once, short of breath. It made her think of that time in third grade when she had been rehearsing for a school play and Billy Murphy had accidentally shoved her off the stage, the short fall and crash landing that had knocked the wind right out of her. She felt like that, now: windless. She didn't know what to say, so she took a long swig of her drink.

"You're not transparent," he assured her. "I'm a reporter. It's my job to hear what people don't say."

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

Lorelai sat beside Luke on the tiled floor of baggage claim, her legs crossed at the ankles. She had arrived almost thirty minutes earlier, and the only topic she had been brave enough to broach was the relative merits of several pop song ring tones. She held Luke's phone up in front of them as she scrolled through the "Top 20" section. 

"You need something that will give you a little street cred," she told him.

"How come you're allowed to have just a plain old ring, but I need street cred?"

She pouted. "Because I have to walk around talking to guests all day long, and if my phone sang _Sexyback_ the way it does in my happiest of dreams, people would look at me funny." 

"Well, I think I'm all set on street cred."

She snorted. "According to who, Kirk?"

He elbowed her in the ribs and when she doubled over in fake pain, he hooked his arm around her and drew her closer.

"How about _Smack That_?" she suggested, resting her head on his shoulder as she continued to play with the phone. " _Straight to the Bank_? _Golddigger?_ "

"No, no, and no."

"Picky," she accused. She kept scrolling idly through, peeking at his face out of the corner of her eye.

"So, hey," she began casually. "What were you going to say this morning before I jumped down your throat?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did."

Lorelai turned to face him, causing his arm to slip from her shoulders. She caught his hand in hers.

"No, Luke, this one's on me, I think. I just got so anxious, and I unloaded some stuff on you that I shouldn't have. Last night was so... refreshing, you know? Hanging out, joking around, helping you get ready for April. Being involved, I guess. I just went to bed really happy, and then I woke up and you looked nervous and said some familiar words and I flipped out. I'm sorry."

"Lorelai," he began, giving her hand a few comforting squeezes. "We've talked this to death, so I don't want to get into it again. But I just need to know that you _know_ -"

"I know," she assured him. 

"Good," he said.

"So, you can tell me. I want you to tell me."

He shifted uncomfortably, but she continued to look at him expectantly, encouragingly.

"It's just... I don't want you to take this the wrong way. I love being with you, and I want to be with you all the time, and I want the three of us to spend time together, too."

"I know that," she assured him. "I do."

"Okay. But, well, the thing is..." He paused before rushing through his next words. "I don't think we should sleep together when April's here. I'm just not comfortable with that. She's not a little kid, you know, she's impressionable and sensitive, and I don't think she'd say anything even if it did bother her, but even if she was fine with it, I just don't think it's appropriate."

Lorelai almost laughed, and she would have, if his face hadn't been so searching and anxious. 

"Of course we're not sleeping together when she's here," she said. "You think I'd be down for sleeping in your bed in your one-room apartment with your teenage daughter?"

"Well, when you put it that way..." 

His face had relaxed and was approaching a smile. She grinned at him and pushed that almost-smile right over the edge.

"Silly boy," she said, resting her palm against his rough cheek.

"Dad!" 

They heard the cry before they saw April, hurrying around the baggage carousel with unchecked exuberance. Luke and Lorelai scrambled up from the floor and watched the girl careen towards them, a blur of flailing arms and long legs and straightened dark hair.

She crashed into Luke full force, knocking him back on his heels. Lorelai looked on as they hugged and then separated, Luke holding his daughter by the shoulders and taking a good long look at her.

"What's that stuff on your face?" was his first question.

"Eye shadow and lip gloss?" April responded tentatively.

He looked at Lorelai. "Hear that? Eye shadow and lip gloss."

"I think she looks great," Lorelai said, offering April a tentative smile. "Welcome back, sweetie."

April tripped slightly over one of her suitcases as she switched positions to embrace Lorelai, squealing a little as she did so.

"I didn't think you were coming with Dad to get me," she said.

"I decided to keep him company."

"I'm really glad you're here," April told her. Her voice was serious enough to convey that 'here' meant more than just the airport pick-up.

"Me, too."

Luke shouldered April's three enormous bags and grunted comically as they made their way to the parking lot. 

"God, what do you have in here? Didn't you leave any make-up in the drug stores?"

"Da-aaaadd," said April.

Over his daughter's head, Luke winked at Lorelai, and any traces of doubt were extinguished by that simple gesture.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

"Okay, so explain this to me again. The guy is just on YouTube standing in his kitchen talking about different kinds of muffins?"

Rory fumbled with the key card to her room, putting it in upside down about four times before trying it the other way. When the door swung open, she gasped like she had just won the jackpot at a slot machine. She giggled at herself, then at Patrick.

" _Nooooo_ ," she drawled. "You don't _get_ it. It's _funnier_ than that. I don't _get_ why you don't _get_ it."

"Because you're describing it very badly," he told her. He tripped over a pair of her heels and landed on the corner of the bed. "Oomph. Did that on purpose."

She giggled again and sat next to him, opening her laptop where it was charging on the nightstand. "I'm gonna show you," she said definitively. "I'm gonna show you why it's funny. This thing takes a long time to turn on. So long to turn on. That hourglass takes so long to fill up." 

"You're wasted," he accused, dragging the word out to at least three syllables.

She gasped. "Am not!"

"Totally are."

"I'm slightly buzzed," she countered.

Rory leaned back against the pillows, but misjudged the distance and ended up lying down with her feet dangling off the side of the bed. She turned her head to face him. 

"You're completely drunk," he said, with finality.

"So _drunk_ ," she agreed. He laughed and scooted over to lie down beside her.

"Bed sucks," he said.

"Hard. Lumpy."

"Won't matter. You're drunky drunk."

"So are you," she countered.

He made a noise as though to contradict her, but then simply shrugged his shoulders and grinned. He looked like a little boy when he smiled that way, Rory thought. She wanted to count the freckles on his chin. Earlier there had been three, but now it looked more like nine. They had multiplied. The thought made her giggle again.

"You're a giggly drunk," he told her.

"I haven't been this drunk in forever," she said. "Since, like... forever. _This_ drunk? No. Not since Lane's bachelorette party, probably." 

"Sounds like a good time."

"It was," she said, transitioning from giggly drunk to morose drunk. "My mom threw it. Threw it? Threw up?"

"Your mom threw up?"

"Someone did," she said. "Don't remember. It was _awesome_."

Patrick laughed. "You just said awesome weird, you said it like this: _ahhhsome_." 

"I miss her," Rory said, ignoring Patrick's last observation. "I miss both of those hers. They're really good hers."

"Huh?"

"You wanna know something? I think this is what lonely feels like. I thought I felt it before, but I don't think I ever did."

"Lonely? Oh, it feels kind of like shadowy inside and all hollow, like your own feelings just kind of like _echo_ , you know, like this: _whooooooooo_ ," he said solemnly.

"Yes!" Rory agreed, elbowing him gently in the ribs. "It feels _exactly_ like that."

They sat there for a few moments in silence. Rory watched the stucco on the ceiling turn in circles, like spin art.

"What did we come up here for?" Patrick asked after a little while. Rory thought hard. Then she burst out laughing.

"I have no idea," she said, gasping for breath.

Patrick turned on his side and poked her in the shoulder. "You have a funny laugh," he said. She stopped laughing abruptly when she suddenly noticed how very close his nose was to hers.

"But you stopped," he noted. 

"Mmhmm," she said. With no direction from her brain, her hand had found a home for itself in the crook of Patrick's elbow.

"I'm sorry you're lonely, Rory," he said, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. 

"Not so much right now," she said softly. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his. Her head was spinny like the ceiling and his mouth tasted just like hers. Her lips felt a little numb and she could barely tell they were kissing at all until she felt his hands under her shirt, caressing her bare stomach, inching towards her bra.

"Not so much right now, me either," he said, the words muffled against her neck. 

Then they stopped talking for a good long while.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

When Lorelai arrived at work that morning, Sookie was waiting for her at the desk with a steaming mug of coffee.

"Morning!" Sookie chirped.

"I'm not refereeing for you and Michel," Lorelai warned, accepting the coffee.

"I'm not asking you to!" 

"Oh. Then what's with the welcome?"

"Can't a girl loiter around the reception desk for forty minutes, waiting to bestow upon her best friend a delicious mocha latte?"

"Yes she can!" Lorelai declared after the first sip. "This is awesome, by the way. Thanks, Sook!"

"Feeling better today?"

"Much, thanks. It was the most ridiculous concern, on Luke's part, and the most ridiculous response, on mine, but we're fine now. I met him at the airport last night to greet April, so she's here and safe and she looks great and she still likes me, which is key. Today he's taking her out on the boat, and then tonight we're going to make dinner at my house."

"That's great, honey!" Sookie said, genuinely happy for her friend. "See, I told you."

"You did," Lorelai agreed. 

There was a pregnant pause.

"So, you like the coffee?"

Lorelai eyed her suspiciously. "Yes."

"Can I whip you up some breakfast? French toast? Something lighter? A scone, maybe? Apricot raisin scones!"

"I'm _not_ refereeing for you and Michel, Sookie!" Lorelai repeated.

"Fine! He's out of his mind, though! He's _recruiting_ , Lorelai. Last night he called guests _on their cell phones_ to advertise. That's cheating! I don't have access to that kind of information!"

"Michel!" Lorelai called. He scuttled around a corner and approached with an innocent expression on his face.

"Yes?"

"Don't call guests to plug your scrapbook party."

"Scrapbook _workshop_!" he corrected indignantly.

"Whatever! You can't call people on their private phones! They aren't professionally obligated to listen to you whine, unlike the rest of us."

"I detest you both."

"Aw. That's sweet. Now let's find some work for you to do."

Just then, Mr. Toskavitch from room eight descended the staircase with a newspaper tucked under his arm, blissfully unsuspecting. Sookie jumped in his path, producing an elegantly decorated sugar cookie that she must have been hiding in her pocket.

"Hello, good morning, sir! Would you like to learn how to decorate cookies with intricate and colorful designs in a few easy steps?"

"Um, well... not really."

"Do you have a wife or girlfriend or daughter?"

"I have a daughter," he admitted, eyeing the front door.

"I'll teach you how to decorate cookies like butterflies! I bet she likes butterflies!"

"Sookie," Lorelai said, trying to keep the warning in the most cheerful voice possible.

"She's diabetic."

Michel chortled in satisfaction and cut Mr. Toskavitch off again as he headed for the exit.

"Have you ever made her a memory book?"

"Michel," Lorelai said through gritted teeth. 

"What is... I don't even know what that is," the man said helplessly.

Michel looked at Mr. Toskavitch scornfully. "Do you even pretend to love your child?"

Lorelai all but leapt in between the two of them and put her arm around the guest's shoulders, leading him towards the front door. 

"All right, Mr. Toskavitch, you enjoy your morning. Do you know where you're headed? Luke's diner is in the dead center of town and has delicious breakfasts, and as an added bonus, it is far away from anyone with a vested interest in your afternoon plans. Take this map!" she said, ushering him through the door. "Have a lovely day!"

She turned back to glare reproachfully at Sookie and Michel.

"Stop harassing the guests," she admonished. "Or I'll cancel _both_ stupid classes!"

They gasped in unison. "You wouldn't!" Michel cried.

"Oh, wouldn't I?" Lorelai threatened, grabbing her coffee and Sookie's demo cookie before absconding to her office.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

Rory woke up because someone was shining a flashlight in her face and bouncing up and down on the bed. When she opened her eyes, she realized that the burning light she had mistaken for a flashlight was just the morning sun dappling in through the slits in the blinds, and the bouncer was just Patrick, quietly tying his shoes at the foot of the bed.

The first few times she tried to say "hello," her mouth moved but no sound came out. Her throat was hoarse and her tongue was heavy and thick. Her head felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton. There was a pain like snapping rubber bands at her temples. And yet, when she finally found her voice, she was smiling.

"Hey, you," she said. She was surprised that she didn't feel at all shy; only happy and warm and a little sick.

She felt more than a little sick when he turned around and she caught her first glimpse of his face, which was drawn, his lips pursed in a tight line. There was something unidentifiable in his eyes. Guilt, maybe, or regret.

"Hey," he said, managing a small smile. "How are you?"

It was such a strange question, the kind of thing acquaintances barely remember to ask one another at the post office. The kind of question you can only answer one way.

"I'm good," she said carefully. "You?"

"Good. Good," he replied. He shifted uncomfortably.

"You're up. Dressed," she noted.

"Yeah. Listen, Rory..."

Her stomach churned a little faster and she squeezed her eyes closed for a minute. She really couldn't believe that she was about to hear this speech, this horrible speech that featured prominently in about a hundred different movies she'd seen over the course of her life. Part of her wanted to chime in like those lithe Hollywood heroines, halt him with a heavy-lidded "Don't," or no, it was "Please don't." But another part of her thought that there was a small chance he wouldn't do it if she didn't help him.

"Rory. I'm really sorry."

"What for?" she asked, pulling at a loose thread in the white sheet.

"Last night. I didn't know... I didn't plan it. It just happened."

"I know," she said. "I was there, too."

"Yeah, I know. But I'm sorry. We're friends, and it's a mistake, to mess something like that up. We're just starting to really get to know each other, you know, and then this happened... this shouldn't have happened." He searched her face desperately. "Right? You agree?"

"Sure," she said. She hoped it was more convincing than it sounded to her ears.

"Yeah," he said, standing, obviously relieved. "I figured we'd be on the same page."

"Right. Same page," she repeated.

"It was great, last night," he offered, and she wanted to hit him for it. "But it was just... well, you know. You just broke up with someone, I just broke up with someone... I thought I was over it, but I guess... I'm not."

He spoke casually, as though it wasn't the first time she was hearing about this recently-ended relationship. She immediately wanted to know her name, her vital statistics, why it ended, if he loved her. She immediately wanted to know a million things that were suddenly and painfully none of her business.

"Are things going to be weird, now?" he asked. "I don't want things to be weird."

The question had an obvious answer, but again, there was only one appropriate response. 

"No," she assured him, the best that she could. "Nothing's weird."

"Good. I'd hate it if we couldn't be friends."

"Me too," she said, focusing on a spot on the wall just above his left shoulder.

When he left, seconds later, she slunk down under the sheets and blankets until all she could see was white. 

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

The phone rang at the front desk and Lorelai answered it, having been stationed there while Michel set up for his workshop in the library.

"Dragonfly Inn, Lorelai speaking."

"Lorelai, it's your mother. We've decided to put together a care package for Rory."

"Well, that's very nice of you, Mom. Did you call just to report the headline, or can I help you with something?"

"I wanted your opinion on the contents, but if it would be too much _trouble_ to put your sarcasm aside for a few moments..."

"Consider it aside. So, what have you crammed in there? Hit me with it."

"I'm not going to pretend to understand a word you just said."

"The package, Mom. What are you sending her?"

"Well, I've got a lovely arrangement of dried flowers... I thought they would travel better than fresh. And I'm putting together an assortment of gourmet cookies, cakes, jams and jellies. We're also sending her some spending money, of course, and a beautiful new set of pens. But I was wondering if you could think of anything else she might like."

While Emily had been speaking, Sookie had passed glumly by en route to the library, carrying a tiered serving tray of iced Bavarian sugar cookies. Lorelai craned her neck and tried to see what she was up to, to no avail. 

"Other than jams and jellies and cash and pens? I think that covers all her interests, Mom," Lorelai said distractedly. 

"Well, if you think of anything else..."

"I'll call you. Listen, work is really busy right now--"

"All right, all right. Be sure to call if you think of anything else to add! I want this package to be so huge she'll need help carrying it."

"Sounds like quite a treat," Lorelai quipped. 

She hung up the phone and walked cautiously towards the library, where she was shocked to find Sookie and Michel bent over the craft table he had set up. There wasn't a guest in sight, but Michel was quietly instructing Sookie as she applied what appeared to be foam duckling cut-outs to the cover of a photo album.

"We'll do the ribbon binding next," he said. 

"And then the rick-rack trim!" Sookie said gleefully.

Lorelai hesitated to enter the room and disrupt the pleasant moment the two were sharing. And then, almost before it began, it was over. She backed away quietly, and their bickering echoed after her.

"Sookie! You are getting crumbs in my glue!"

"I am not, you old crone."

"Your highly caloric treat has compromised the integrity of my work station."

" _What_?"

"Get your sticky hands out of my bead box at once."

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

Rory stood outside the convention hall where Senator Obama's speech would begin in about forty minutes. It was times like these when she wished she smoked. She knew all about lung cancer and emphysema, but she had arrived over an hour earlier than necessary and needed _something_ to do with her hands.

All day, she had diligently been avoiding any thoughts about the previous night or Patrick, but that was all shot to hell when she saw him approaching. He was half a block away and all dressed up, wearing that periwinkle tie she liked so much. Without thinking, she frantically searched out her cell phone from her purse and held it to her ear.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know," she fake-conversationed. "Nothing really. Just waiting for the speech to start... what are you up to?" 

She had her head down and continued to ask questions into her phone when he passed her on the steps. Right before he reached the doors, a horribly high-pitched noise sounded right into Rory's ear. It took her a moment to realize that it was her phone, ringing. While she was supposedly on it. She quickly looked up, praying that Patrick was already in the building, but he was looking back at her curiously.

Not knowing what else to do, she pressed the send button and accepted the call. 

"Hello?" she asked, her mind a fog of humiliation.

"Rory? It's Michael. Listen, I got your draft."

Rory felt her throat close up a little bit. "And?"

"And, it's far from perfect, but I'm seeing progress."

"Really?" she asked, trying hard to mask her surprise. It wasn't even a compliment, exactly, but it was close enough.

"Yeah. I know you've got a speech to cover in a few minutes, but call me at the office tomorrow morning so we can go over some of the specifics. I particularly like the way you handled the introduction. It's dynamic. I'd like to see more of that throughout."

"I can do that," she said. 

"All right," Michael said. "Until tomorrow, then."

"Bye," she said. She slapped the phone shut definitively and her expression was somewhere between a smile and a grimace as she steeled herself and entered the hall.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

"Are these _alphabetized_?" April called. She was in Rory's room, perusing the overflowing bookshelves.

"By author, then title," Lorelai replied. "And color coordinated wherever possible."

"That's so cool!" 

Lorelai snorted. "That's one way to describe it." She handed three glasses to Luke, who filled them with ice and put them on the table.

"She has _The Hot Zone_! I _love_ the Ebola virus. The CDC completely fascinates me."

Luke raised his eyebrows at Lorelai, and she tried not to laugh. 

"Yeah, well, let it fascinate you while you help set the table," Luke said good-naturedly. April wandered out, already reading, and sat down to absently fold the napkins.

A few moments later, Luke carried a pan of chicken francaise over to the table. 

"Ready to eat?"

"God, yes," Lorelai said.

April, looking a bit queasy, finally tore her eyes from the book.

"Someone's insides are turning black and liquefying," she said in a small, disgusted voice.

"And if you eat your vegetables, that won't happen to you," Luke teased, spooning broccoli onto April's plate and ignoring her unamused glare.

♫   ♫   ♫  

After dinner, Luke, Lorelai and April settled down in the living room to play Monopoly. Halfway through the game, Lorelai remembered why it had been so long since the last time she'd played.

"You know why this game sucks?" she said. "Because it _never ends_."

"Well, usually it ends with you getting cranky because you're losing and flipping the board so that all the pieces go flying and we have to stop playing."

"Two times, that happened!" she said defensively. He chuckled and patted her knee.

"Don't worry, Lorelai," April said. "I'm about to clean you out, and then Dad's got like no properties at all because he's hoarding his money, which is the lamest strategy _ever_!"

The phone rang then, and Lorelai took the opportunity to stretch her legs. She bounded over to the hall table, leaving Luke and April to their trash talk.

"Board Game Torture Lair, how may I help you?"

"Mom?"

"Rory!" she exclaimed. "Hey babe, how's it going?"

"Okay," Rory said. Lorelai heard a thinness in Rory's voice, which was enough to set off her mom radar.

"Just okay?" she asked, concerned. "What's the matter?"

"Oh! You owe me for Park Place!" April crowed loudly.

"Okay, okay," Luke grumbled.

Lorelai placed her hand over her other ear. "Rory?"

"What's all that noise?" Rory asked.

"Oh, Luke and April playing Monopoly," she said. "It's getting heated. I'm the shoe."

"Naturally," Rory said.

"Are you sure you're okay, hon? You sound a little down."

"It's your turn, Lorelai," Luke called. She waved her arm at him and pointed at the receiver, mouthing the word 'Rory.' He nodded in response.

"I'm fine, Mom," Rory said. "Just tired. It's been a long day. Go back to your game, though, we can talk later."

"You're sure you're just tired?"

"I'm sure," Rory assured her. "Go kick Luke's ass. And tell April I said hi."

"I will. Oh, hon, hang on a minute. Can you do me a favor and call your grandparents? They've been interrogating me about you nonstop."

"Are they mad?" Rory asked. "I haven't been calling as much as I should."

"You've been busy," Lorelai said. "But I do suggest you call them tonight. They feel a little slighted, I think."

"I'll try harder," Rory resolved.

"I think you'd better, especially if you don't want the front desk of whatever budget motel you're staying in to be bombarded with Harry and David fruit baskets that cost more than the management team's salary combined."

"Love you, Mom."

"Love you too, sweets. Goodnight."

She hung up just before April attacked Luke for the three hundred dollars he was withholding from her. Lorelai held the phone against her heart and laughed as Luke pretended to tear up the fake bills and April squealed in protest.

♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫   ♫  

Rory flipped her phone closed and tried to keep her mother's voice in her head for as long as she could. _Love you, sweets_. As she repeated it in her mind, the phrase lost all meaning, and with it, all of its silly comfort. She laid back on the bed, thinking of Stars Hollow and of their house, the warm living room full of people and laughter and love. Her room was white and quiet and empty, the bed tightly made: hospital corners.

After a few moments of feeling decidedly sorry for herself, she sat up and dragged her computer out of her bag. She stared at it with grim resolve and waited for the machine to power up, trying to block the fuzzy, choppy memory of playing this same waiting game with Patrick the night before. By the time she pulled up a blank Word document, she felt a new wave of determination and attacked the keys with growing confidence.

She flashed back to a moment she hadn't thought of in years, when she was seven years old and Lorelai, who had needed a minute to herself, sat her down with paper and a pen.

_"Write me a story," Lorelai said._

Rory examined the blank page, the whiteness of it, the vastness of it.

"About what?"

"Anything you want. Write about school. Write about Lane. Write about monkeys."

"I don't know anything about monkeys," Rory panicked.

Lorelai smiled encouragingly before giving her the golden ticket.

"Fake it."

The screen filled quickly as Rory's words flowed steadily from mind to fingertips. The simple act of it was as effortless as breathing, as warm as a hug. When she was finished, she sat back and scrolled up to the first line to re-read her masterpiece. It wasn't quite as imaginative as "My Day With The Monkeys," but it was close.

"Dear Grandma and Grandpa," it began.

 

_To be continued..._


End file.
